


Little and Broken, But Still Good

by allapplesfall



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everyone Needs A Hug, Foster Care, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Avengers, Panic Attacks, especially Tasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy's been shunted from home to home to home to home to (what is she saying? None of them are home) from house to house to house for years now. She keeps smiling, because it keeps people from prying. And then she's drop kicked into living with Phil, and now she has four brothers and a sister, and dear god, how does Phil stay sane?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family? Ha.

Darcy didn’t have high hopes for this foster home, just like she hadn’t had high hopes for the last six. The highest she dared hope for was someone less abusive than the last asshole that dared call himself a foster _parent_ , and that maybe they would just leave her alone.

           

She didn’t blame her social worker, Erik, because she knew he tried his best to put her somewhere good. He’d been on the job a long time, and he still did his best. It just didn’t always work out that way. From his position in the driver’s seat, he was telling her about her new family. _Family_. Ha. But she figured it would be better to know at least something about what she was getting tossed into, so she tried to pay attention to what he was saying.

           

“-like I said, he already has five kids, so he knows what he’s doing. We’ve gotten no complaints or indicators that he’s done anything but the best for the kids,” he said, his voice laced with a strong undercurrent of _I know it’s been shit, but I hope this will be better_. Darcy hoped so too.

 

“It’s a single guy, which you know is a bit unusual, but he used to be a social worker himself, so he’s got the connections. He actually used to be a friend of mine. His name’s Phil Coulson. I hope you’ll give him a chance, Darce,” Erik paused there, heaving out a big sigh. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, and twisted in his seat to get a good look at her.

 

“You know I’m not supposed to play favorites, but I do. I do, and who can blame an old man who should have retired years ago? Well, you’re one of my favorites, Darcy. And I really think you could have a shot at being happy here. But even though I’m telling you to give Phil a chance, I want you to call me if you have any problems or concerns.” Darcy couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside at his words. It was nice to know that at least one person in the whole goddamn world cared if she lived or died.

 

So she nodded, and didn’t smack her gum obnoxiously like she might’ve done for anyone else. She nodded, she gave a small smile, and she got out of the car, backpack slung over her shoulder. Darcy could feel Erik’s eyes watching her as she climbed the three concrete steps that led to a red door. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she straightened, and rang the doorbell.

 

The clang of the bell rang through the house, and Darcy could feel vibrations of lots of feet running to answer it from the doormat. Clutching the strap of her backpack with one hand, she took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable opening of the door.

 

The man in the doorway looked to be in his early fifties, a good decade younger than Erik. He didn’t seem very imposing, with balding hair and in a nondescript gray suit, but he had an air about him that made him seem like someone you wanted on your good side. Behind him, three boys seemed to be trying to get a look at her.

 

The man that Erik had called Phil spoke up. “You must be Darcy, right? Erik said he would be dropping you off around an hour ago, but I’ve never seen that man arrive on time in my life.” The joking way in which he said it loosened the knot in Darcy’s stomach a bit, partly because she’d never known Erik to be on time either. “I’m Phil, by the way. No need to ‘Mr. Coulson’ me.”

 

Phil took a step back, inviting her to come inside while waving to Erik, who was still sitting in the stalling car. Darcy moved into the open hallway, turning back in time to see Erik wave back and drive off.

 

Now that she was inside the house, she could get a better look at the boys. The youngest appeared to be about ten or eleven, with sandy blond hair and wide gray-blue eyes. He seemed to have gotten in a scuffle with an older boy twice his size in the five seconds Darcy had been in the entryway. Phil shot the two of them a look, and they stopped immediately, hands dropping to stay at their sides.

  
Phil pointed the maybe-ten-maybe-eleven year-old, and then at the kid he’d been fighting with, who on closer inspection had shaggy blond hair that nearly grazed his shoulders. “That’s Clint, and the big one’s Thor. Clint’s eleven, and Thor’s going to be sixteen in a month. Which means he _should_ know better than to get into fights with his younger brother.” His comment was accompanied by a hard look that made Thor look at the ground.

 

Phil continued, pointing at yet another blond (seriously, how many blonds did this guy have?), this one sporting a black eye and a cut lip, “That’s Steve. He’s fifteen. And like Thor, he still doesn’t have the self-restraint to stop from getting in fights.” Like with Thor, Phil gave Steve a disapproving look that Steve returned with a determined stare, defending, “Schmidt was three times the size of that kid. I couldn’t just stand there and do _nothing_.” Phil sighed, and led the four of them farther into the house.

 

“If you’ve been paying any attention, you’ll know this is Darcy. Feel free to introduce yourselves more while I go track down the other two,” Phil announced, leaving them in a medium sized kitchen. Clint’s muttered, “Good luck,” didn’t fill Darcy with confidence about the ‘other two’.

 

When Phil was gone, Steve stepped forward, hand extended. “Hey, Darcy, nice to meet you. Like Phil said, I’m Steve.” Darcy nodded and shook his hand, observing that for all Phil had told her that Steve was fifteen, he was still an inch shorter than her. His body type was what could only be described as _scrawny_. His pale blue polo shirt hung off his body dejectedly. But there was a fire in his eyes that told her that he never let that get in the way. Or maybe it was the black eye.

 

“Hey, Steve-o. So I guess you three are my new brothers, huh? Does this place have Wi-Fi?” Darcy rambled, shaking Steve’s hand then taking out her iPod and opening it to settings, ready to input any Wi-Fi data that was given. She looked up in time to see Thor and Steve share an amused look.

 

“Phil can give it to you, if Instagram can wait that long,” Clint said impishly, grinning. She stuck her tongue out at him, silently telling herself to stop inwardly panicking. _Normal human interaction. Treat him like a little brother. He’s acting like an annoying little brother. Making jokes. That’s good. Right?_

 

Steve snorted, commenting, “Well Clint, I think she’s got you beat. Hey Darcy, what grade are you in?” Darcy smiled ( _smile, smile, smile_ ), and forced herself to meet Steve’s clear blue eyes. This was okay. She could grow to be comfortable here. She hoped. God, she hated Hope.

 

“Eighth grade. I turn fourteen in June,” she answered. He nodded, and Thor observed, “A little under a year younger than Natasha. She’s our other sister. Phil’s gone to find her and Bruce now.”

 

It was Darcy’s turn to nod, and she realized how awkward it was, standing in a kitchen surrounded by people she wasn’t ready to trust, wasn’t sure how to start trusting. Darcy had a friendly shell. She tried to be friendly to everyone, because that way didn’t think you had problems and wouldn’t pry. So she would be friendly with these boys, she would start calling them her brothers, but she wasn’t sure how to actually make them her _friends_. Darcy told herself that she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to have anything to do with them, but her heart told her that she knew she did. Stupid heart.

 

Before she could tussle with her inner reservations any more, Phil reentered the kitchen, two more kids trailing behind him. The boy had curly dark brown hair, and was anxiously fidgeting with some small metal instrument that he was holding. His gray t-shirt was rumpled, and had some kind of science joke on it. From what Thor had said, Darcy deduced that this was Bruce. Bruce glanced up at her, and then looked back down at the ground, pushing up his glasses anxiously.

 

The girl Darcy assumed was Natasha followed Bruce and Phil into the kitchen. She had flaming curly shoulder-length hair, appeared to be a good two inches shorter than Darcy, and had dark half-moon circles under her eyes. Her green eyes seemed to assess Darcy for a potential threat, and she kept one hand on the doorknob.

 

Phil smiled widely at Darcy, gesturing for her to sit down at the long kitchen table. “Darcy, this is Bruce and this is Natasha. Bruce, Natasha, this is Darcy,” he said pleasantly, and the boys seemed to take this as a cue to sit down. Bruce still wouldn’t look at her, but he took a seat between Steve and Clint nonetheless. Steve put an arm around the back of Bruce’s chair, and Bruce relaxed into it.

 

Natasha, on the other hand, stayed still, unmoving. Phil noted it with a sigh, though he didn’t seem surprised as he told her, “Natasha, you can come sit down.” Natasha’s head swiveled, and she seemed hesitant, but she walked over and sat at the far end with military obedience. It made Phil sigh again, and Darcy wondered if maybe that was something that he’d been trying to break her of.

 

“Well, Darcy, this is us. We’ll sort more details out tomorrow, but it’s getting late and these guys still have homework to finish. I think your first day is Thursday, so you have a couple days before you dive back in. Natasha can show you to your room, if she _wants_ ,” Phil said, while the others grumbled about just having sat down (and how “we shouldn’t have to write essays in P.E., it’s just wrong!”).

 

At Phil’s carefully worded suggestion, Natasha stood up, gesturing for Darcy to follow her. Darcy did, down the long padded corridors. Natasha was silent, her very footsteps muffled by the carpet. When they arrived at a door near the end of the hallway, Natasha opened it for Darcy, showing off an obvious guest room with off-white walls and cream carpet.

 

“I’m just across the hall. Phil is closer to the kitchen.” The words were soft, but they made Darcy turn. Natasha’s voice was surprisingly low, and was tinged with a faint accent. Russian, maybe? Before Darcy could begin to thank her, Natasha was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And no, the author is in no way sorry for stealing the title from Lilo and Stitch.


	2. Rules, Ikea, and Damn Good Pizza

Darcy woke up the next morning with the taste in her mouth that comes when you stay in bed too long. Grabbing her iPod off the dresser, she checked the time and shuffled out of the room clad only in a pair of lounge pants and a hand-me-down shirt. It was after ten, she reasoned, the rest of the kids would all be at school, and Phil would probably be at work.

 

Her theory was disproven when she entered the brightly lit kitchen to find Phil sitting at the table doing the crossword. It was hard to reconcile this version of Phil with the suit-wearing one of the day before, when here he was sitting and chewing on the cap of a pen in a threadbare superhero shirt.

 

Feet squeaked on the linoleum, and Darcy instinctively flinched as Phil looked up at the noise. Pretending that hadn’t happened, she gave him a wide smile ( _that was, in fact, very fake_ ) and said good morning. He returned the greeting with a half-smile, and gestured for her to join him.

 

“So, Darcy, sleep well?” he asked, getting up to rummage around in some cupboards. The answer was, no, she had a shitty night, but she pinned another grin on her face. “Yup! Hey, Phil, I was wondering if you could give me the Wi-Fi password? Steve didn’t know it yesterday, and my followers are really not feeling the love.”

 

Phil raised an eyebrow in response, holding up a packet of Folgers. “Coffee? Though from the sound of it you might not need any.”

 

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. She most definitely needed coffee. “Yes please! Coffee is a gift from the gods. So, Phil, whaddya say, coffee with a side of a Wi-Fi passwords?” She felt herself beginning to let her act of being comfortable bleed into what she was actually feeling. _Take a step back, Darce. Don’t get attached just because he’s giving you coffee_. She knew that wasn’t the only reason she liked Phil, but she’d go with that for now.

 

Phil smiled and started bustling around with the instant coffee. “Username is philissupernanny. Password is ‘tonystarktotallyhackedthewifi’, all lowercase. Some of Bruce’s friends are a little… Over enthusiastic.” Darcy nodded, her fingers flying over the virtual keyboard. She was extremely thankful to have Wi-Fi, no matter how many times it’d been hacked.

 

Darcy had two friends in her life right now, and she’d never met either of them face to face. She’d facetimed them, so she knew they weren’t psycho-killer rapists, and they were just as much her friends as if they’d lived next door. She didn’t care what anyone said, internet friends were just as real as real-life ones.

 

She opened one of her social media apps and sent a selfie to both of them, with the caption ‘w/ the new fam. will send pics of sibs’. Setting down the iPod, Darcy looked up in time to see Phil smile at her as he placed a mug in front of her.

 

Grinning her thanks, she blew on the top of the murky liquid. Ah coffee, the key to a happy (read: conscious) existence. Darcy peered over the top of the mug at Phil, who had sat back down with his own cup. He hadn’t gone back to his newspaper, and was looking steadily back at her, so she assumed he wanted to have a little chat. Darcy was proven right a moment later.

 

“So, Darcy, we probably have to talk over the logistics, and just talk about things in general. What are your thoughts so far?” he asked, rubbing his forehead absently.

 

She shrugged. “They seem pretty cool. And you don’t seem like an asshole, so it’s all looking up for me.” Darcy smiled, hoping it looked genuine, and worried it actually was.

 

Phil sighed appreciatively, nodding. After taking a sip of his coffee, he answered, “I do my best to not be an asshole, yeah. And as for the rest of them… Well, none of them have had it easy. Neither have you, by the sounds of it. Are you ready to go back to school?”

 

She bobbed her head, more out of an automatic response than because she actually felt ready to go to another new school. Fifth middle school in three years, hip hip hurray.

 

Phil’s coffee mug clinked as it made contact with the table top, and he dipped his head in response, continuing, “I know it’s gonna be rough. And I’m not going to bother lying about that. The middle school’s only a few blocks from here, so I’ll drop you, Natasha, and Clint off before heading to work. Thor, Steve, and Bruce share a car, so they can get to school on their own. Any questions?”

 

Darcy mulled it over, tracing her fingers along a star etched into the wood.

 

“Not really. “

 

“Then we’ve only got another couple house rules. Typical stuff really. No taking knives from the kitchen, no bringing other weapons to the table, no punching, choking, slapping, no touching without express permission, no going into anyone’s room unless they say it’s okay, no crawling into the air vents, no climbing onto the roof, no experiments that could end in explosions, no more than six poptarts a day, no stealing Clint’s hearing aids, and no shooting people with nerf arrows.”

 

Darcy blinked. And blinked again. “A _couple_? _Typical_?”

 

Her expression made Phil smile, and he cocked his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, a lot of very atypical house rules. If you aren’t sure if what you’re doing is allowed, please use your better judgment. But hell, from the looks of it you haven’t even entered your rebellious stage yet, so who am I kidding. Just try not to kill anyone.”

 

She mock saluted him, adding an insolent, “Yes, sir.”

 

Phil sighed, but stood up and set his mug in the sink. “Okay, that’s all the Phil-babble I’m going to make you endure for right now. Why don’t we both get dressed and we can go and get you some stuff for your room?”

 

Darcy nodded in agreement, downing the last dregs of her coffee before walking back towards her room. _Her_ room. Phil actually wanted to let her decorate it to make it hers. Some band posters would be in order, if he would let her. Almost against her will, she grinned.

 

 

 

Three hours of wandering around Ikea later, Phil and Darcy decided that the meatballs totally outweighed the number of times they had gotten lost. They had picked out some furniture that Darcy liked, a loft bed/desk and rug. When she had asked about the price, Phil had told her not to worry about it.

 

By some feat of magic, they managed to get everything back to the house. Phil promised that they’d get Thor to put it all together when he got home, because apparently the boy had a head for tools _and_ understood Swedish. Why he hadn’t been invited on their shopping expedition was beyond Darcy’s knowledge.

 

At about two thirty Phil told her he had to pick up the middle schoolers, and asked if she wanted to come with him or not. She said sure, because what the hell. This way at least she could see her new school.

 

They pulled up in the line of cars already forming in the parking lot, and waited until the kids started pouring out of doors like a swarm of insects. Darcy spotted Clint first, as he sprinted towards the car with his backpack swung lazily over one shoulder.

 

Phil popped the trunk just in time for Clint to launch his stuff into it. He was chattering happily by the time he jumped into the left side of the backseat.

 

“It was great, Phil, there’s this girl who’s last name’s Chang in my class, and the teacher was talking all the things we needed to start our project with. Ms. Renolds was saying how she hoped to end our school year with a bang, and Sinead said it under her breath, it was great! I don’t think she thought anyone could hear her, but I just managed to read her lips and she said, ‘I always try to end my school year with a Chang.’ It was hilarious!” Clint broke off into a peal of sixth-grade-boy laughter.

 

Phil rolled his eyes to Darcy, who was trying hard to conceal a smile. She liked Clint.

 

Clint seemed to notice she was there and offered her a greeting, before diving straight into one of the comic books that littered the floor of the car. Phil looked over at the other side of the backseat and sighed.

 

“Clint, do you know where Natasha is?” he asked wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was a question that he had asked far too many times. Clint shrugged, not looking up, and Darcy peered out of the window to see if she could get a glimpse of the evasive redhead.

 

The girl suddenly appeared next to the car window, and Darcy jumped. Clint stilled, smiling slightly, and Phil just sighed again, rolling open the door on the minivan.

 

 

 

Dinner that night was a chaotic affair. The table was set for eight: six foster kids, Phil, and Bruce’s infamous friend Tony. Phil had seemingly decided that takeout would be the way to go on that first day, and the kitchen counter was stacked with five pizza boxes.

 

The dining room table had obviously been made to fit this amount of people (it even had two more empty spots), and Phil sat at the head. On his right sat Steve and on his left sat Clint. Next to Steve sat Bruce, with Tony babbling away in scientific jargon on Bruce’s other side. Across from Bruce, Thor was giving Clint a good-natured noogie, while Darcy had the pleasure of being squished between Thor and Natasha.

 

Phil started passing the boxes around the table, and when one got to Thor, all Darcy could do was stare. Thor just had a whole large meat-lovers pizza open in front of him, and was shoveling it all into his mouth at a rate that quite frankly seemed like a choking hazard. Seeing as no one else seemed bothered by this, Darcy just grabbed herself some veggie pizza and tucked in.

 

On her other side, Natasha had one leg bent while she held her body protectively around her pizza. Her body posture indicated that she was ready to run at any moment, and Darcy wondered whether an environment with so many loud people (Tony didn’t seem capable of shutting up, and Thor didn’t seem able to speak at anything quieter than seventy-six decibels) was really what was good for her.

 

But then Clint stood up and threw his pepperoni up in the air and caught it in his mouth, grinning ridiculously as he did so. He turned and smiled at the taciturn redhead, and the faintest wrinkling at the corner of her eyes showed signs of one day becoming a smile. Darcy decided to leave all her Natasha-related opinions at the door and just enjoy some damn good pizza.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this took a while and is kinda crappy. Hopefully the next one will be better.


	3. You Don't Pronounce the W in Sword, Dumbass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for how long it has taken me to write this chapter! I was having a hard time buckling down to do it, but hopefully the chapters will come quicker (and be longer) in the future. Thanks for those of you who showed continued support, especially my two friends who threatened with murder if I didn't publish something by today. Hope you like it!

The first day of school came way too quickly for Darcy, especially since she was heavy with the knowledge that all the other kids had already been in school for five months, and that they’d all known each other for three years. She slogged through the morning, working on fixing herself a suitably bubbly persona. It had served her well.

 

Clint was excited for her, at least. He was regaling her with witty descriptions of all the teachers over breakfast, and recounted all the possible ways to get detention with a suspiciously familiar air. Darcy smiled at his stories, using them as a way to try to stop thinking. It didn’t work, but she still tried.

 

Phil herded them into the car while quizzing Clint on some Geology stuff he supposedly had a test on. The drive over was uneventful, with Natasha sitting silently, staring out the window, and Clint running his mouth at full speed. It might’ve been nice, had her French toast not been doing a full-length aerobic workout in her stomach.

 

Darcy was diverted to the Vice Principal’s office once they got there, and she mentally prepared herself to try to be likable. Outgoing and cheerful people had an easier time than brooding loners. Most of the time, at least.

 

The office was simple, an oak desk and a filing cabinet. A child’s drawing in a black frame adorned the wall, two neon pink stick figures standing on what looked like grass. In the top left corner, an uneven scrawl addressed it _To: Auntie Maria_. It was the most personal thing in the room.

 

Vice Principal Hill had looked her over, eyes kind even if her body was erect. She had an air about her that told Darcy you should stay on her good side, but she didn’t seem like an overtly cruel lady.

 

“Well, Darcy, I’m Vice Principal Hill, but just Hill is fine. We’ve all been made aware of your situation, and if there’s anything that Principal Fury, your teachers, or I can do to ease the transition just let me know.” Hill slid a thick packet of paper across the carefully arranged desk, her voice crisp and concise.

 

“This is your student handbook. If you could just read that, sign it, and have Phil sign it, that would be great. Here’s your schedule…”

 

 

 

Darcy was made to do the stand-up-in-front-of-the-class-tell-us-three-interesting-facts-about-you-even-though-no-one-really-cares in every single morning class, even though she really didn’t feel like it. The only response she consistently received was a muttered, _“At least this one can speak.”_

 

Lunch was a challenge. Though she had made a few friendly conversations, she hadn’t struck a chord with anyone. As she walked into the clamor of the cafeteria, she surveyed the few clumped tables inside and saw no one she even vaguely recognized. Phil had made her lunch, so she picked her way through the mass of overcrowded middle schoolers, and ended up in the courtyard. There were more kids here, scattered on benches and under trees and at wooden tables.

 

Hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair or the garishly purple shirt that Clint had chosen for the day, Darcy spun in place, nearly falling flat on her face when a girl with strawberry blonde hair walked past. The girl noticed her, and immediately fixed a polite and helpful look on her face.

 

“You’re new, right?” she inquired, with the air of someone who already knew the answer. Darcy nodded, silently appraising the girl through her own fixed smile. After a few expectant moments, Darcy realized she should be saying something.

 

“Yep! First day in!” Darcy pushed the smile up to a grin.

 

Businesslike, the lightly freckled girl held out her hand. Darcy, feeling uncomfortable with the formality of it, shook it hesitantly.

 

“Your name’s Darcy, right? I’m Pepper. You’re one of Phil’s new foster kids, the one that smiles a lot?” Pepper had a professional way of speaking, but not in an inhuman way. It just sounded like a girl who wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit. Regardless, that didn’t explain how she knew so goddamn much about Darcy. (Even though it was all a lie)

 

“You know this…how?”

 

Pepper blushed a little, but shrugged, saying, “You know Tony? Bruce’s pain-in-the-ass friend who had dinner with you the other night? I keep his life from falling apart. I also live, like, above his garage, but, you know.”

 

Darcy wasn’t quite sure what that made Pepper (related to Tony? Friend of his family?), but the way Pepper was acting now made her feel more human and less scary professional. Darcy performed another cursory glance under the guise of another bright smile, taking in the worn but well-cared for sweater and pants. Not rich, then, but responsible.

 

Pepper gave a final awkward nod, started to turn around, and then turned back. “You have a place to sit?”

 

 

 

Darcy ended up spending her lunch with Pepper and Pepper’s friends Betty and Carol. Betty was really nice, though Pepper and Carol kept joking that Betty cared more about science than she did people. Darcy told Betty she should meet her friend Jane (one of Darcy’s two Internet friends. The other was Ian. Both of them were crazy about astrophysics for reasons Darcy couldn’t even begin to comprehend).

 

Carol was a laugh, cracking jokes that had Betty blushing and Darcy cackling. Pepper just sat by with a long-suffering expression on her face, which, given her regular proximity to Tony, Darcy assumed she must use a lot.

 

Darcy found the three of them remarkably easy to get along with, and she felt herself growing dangerously comfortable. It was odd, having people to talk to on the first day of school. Normally, she just sat alone in some tucked away corner and texted Ian until she was integrated enough in the class to be allowed to sit on the edge of a large group of people. She had to say, sitting next to these three girls was…nice.

 

After a while, as Pepper started a seemingly well-memorized lecture about Carol’s lack of History homework, Darcy scanned the surrounding clusters of people. Again, she saw no sight of her foster-siblings.

 

Interrupting Pepper, she asked, “Do you know where Clint and Natasha sit?”

 

Carol snorted. “The circus kid with the hearing aides? He and whatshername sit on the roof. Crazy, if you ask me.”

 

Pepper cuffed the back of her head lightly. “Don’t talk about them like that. They’re nice.”

 

“The Russian one threw me into a wall!”

 

“You were going to tap her on the shoulder!”

 

Carol frowned. “You say that like I’ve committed a horrible offense against humanity. All I wanted to do was ask her for math notes!”

 

Betty made an apologetic face towards Darcy as the conversation devolved into “Why aren’t you taking your own notes?” and “Not all of us are so controlling, Pepper!” Darcy shrugged back. They’d paused their bickering long enough to answer her question, at least.

 

Ignoring Carol’s (perfectly executed) snark for the moment, Darcy peered up at the roof of the MPR. Sure as eggs, between a Frisbee that looked like it had been there since T-Rexes had fought with the Nazis and a deflated soccer ball, sat her two foster siblings. Their legs hung off the edge, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, both motionless in a way that Darcy would never have deemed possible for Clint.

 

Natasha spotted her staring, and cocked her head to one side. Darcy saw her hands flutter, and then Clint was looking at her too. He grinned at her, and waved, and Darcy smiled back. Not wanting to continue intruding into something that felt so private, Darcy allowed herself to be sucked into the debate over how to pronounce the word sword.

 

It was only as she was walking to her next class that she realized she hadn’t forced the smile.


	4. Big Brother is Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this also took forever. Christmas break now, so hopefully another chapter will be posted soon. And I am now making a disclaimer (three chapters too late) about how I don't own anything (not even this laptop), and that I know nothing about anything so if I screw anything up just tell me. Cool? Cool. I hope.

Darcy was terrified.

 

This new revelation shocked her to the core, left her panicked and gasping against a wall. She’d felt herself slipping, the past week, but this easy smile that she hadn’t even thought about…

 

It was as if her walls were suddenly ice, and Phil’s house was the sun. They were melting, and Darcy wasn’t quite sure who she was beneath it. In a matter of days, these people ( _all of them, Phil, Clint, Natasha, Pepper, Thor, Steve, Bruce, Betty, Carol, fuck, even Tony_ ) had gotten past her barriers, and Darcy was so, so, so scared of what might happen next. Memories of past broken trusts flooded her mind, and she counted to ten before she could open her eyes again.

 

She had to put her game face back on. She could contemplate the consequences of all this newfound sense of belonging sometime when she wouldn’t get detention for being late, somewhere that was more appropriate for a psychological breakthrough than a soon-to-be crowded hallway. With these goals in mind, Darcy was quickly able to reassemble herself. ( _She was always good at procrastinating_ )

 

She had World History next, with Mr. Sitwell. Darcy didn’t know about everyone else, but Mr. Sitwell sure didn’t sit well with her. (okay, Darcy was maybe a bit too proud of that one) His eyes were shifty, and the way he held his body reminded her of Foster Parent #4. The one that had yelled at her, piss-faced drunk, that she was nothing and would never amount to anything.

 

As if that weren’t enough reason to hate him on sight—“Ms. Lewis, I believe you are foster siblings with one of the other students in this room?”

 

Startled, Darcy turned. In the corner, she spotted a familiar flaming head of hair. Now aware of who he was talking about, she turned back to face the front.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He then made her clarify to the class what their relationship was, and why don’t you explain what exactly a foster child is, Darcy? Because we all need to understand just how different you are from everybody else. Natasha stayed quiet throughout the whole ordeal, though she stared at Darcy’s face in an extremely unnerving fashion. It made Darcy feel a bit like prey that was being stalked, but it might have just been Natasha’s way of ensuring that she wasn’t a threat. It was still creepy as hell.

 

Mr. Sitwell announced that they were going to be starting their unit on Russia, and Darcy didn’t need to turn around to know that Natasha had flinched. She looked back anyway, and was greeted with the sight of her foster-sister even paler than normal, green eyes wide and scared.

 

But then, so quickly that Darcy wondered if she hadn’t just been projecting, Natasha’s face slipped back into a cool, indifferent mask. _Some day she’s gonna have to teach me that trick_ , Darcy thought.

 

Sitwell continued with class, handing out textbooks and class guidelines and rearranging their seats alphabetically, and the way he talked down to his students didn’t gain him any points in Darcy’s books. The day dragged by.

 

When Phil came to pick them up, Darcy was fully ready to never look at another list of catch-up requirements ever again.

 

Phil was sitting in the front seat, talking on the phone.

 

“Yes, Mr. Pierce, I understand. I just don’t think you do. Bruce is–Bruce has a disorder. Surely that was in his file. He can’t help it, and if I hear that you’ve mistreated my son–Yes, I understand that he was physical, but that is no excuse for _yelling_ at him. Well, of course he’s hiding in the corner! You just shouted at a boy who has been very badly abused throughout his life. Mr. Pierce, you do not yell at my son. You do not yell at any of my children. It is your job as principal to protect them–yes, I understand that his behavior was unacceptable, but yours was too. And you, sir, don’t have a disorder stemming from years of abuse! So I’m coming to pick up my fourteen year-old son, and if you have any thoughts about punishment, I will slap you with a lawsuit that will make you wish you never left elementary school!”

 

Darcy stared at Phil, wide-eyed. It was the first time she had heard Phil even come close to yelling since she had arrived, and he was yelling in _defense_ of one of them? ( _when did they become a them?_ )

           

She looked over at Clint, who just gave a small little half-smile and a shrug. His hands started to move, but she could see the moment where he stopped himself and mouthed, _It’s okay_. He went back to reading his comic book like this sort of thing happened all the time.

           

Phil hung up on the principal. “Sorry about that, guys. It looks like we’re going to pick up Bruce now.” His voice sounded tired, and he twisted to have a good look at Clint.

           

“Clint, do you know where Natasha is? Because I really don’t need this right now.”

           

Clint immediately tensed up, expression stony. “She’s coming,” he muttered.

           

“Really? Because last time she was ‘coming’ we sat here for half an hour,” Phil snapped, massaging the bridge of his nose. Darcy looked back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match.

           

“So you’ll defend Bruce, but not her!” Clint sounded frustrated.

           

“Of course I’ll defend her, but her brother just had a very bad day and I need to pick him up,” Phil reasoned, his cool tone firmly in place.

           

“Maybe she had a bad day too!”

           

“I’m here to pick her up, aren’t I?”

           

“You’re always saying that everyone has different ways of coping, but when it comes to hers, you don’t have time for them!” Phil’s logic wasn’t calming Clint down.

           

Darcy stared out the window, not wanting to get involved. She was searching for Natasha, not liking her absence. Clint and Phil fighting felt…unbalanced.

 

Just as Clint’s voice was raising to a pitch that could be considered shouting, Natasha appeared outside her window. Her face was the same expression as always, and she slipped inside nearly silently. Clint’s features softened, and the normal twinkle in his eyes returned. Still, sharp look told both Phil and Darcy that what had been said hadn’t been forgotten.

 

“Hey, Tasha. We’re going to pick up Bruce now, okay?” Phil asked, voice tight.

 

Tasha nodded, doing up her seatbelt smoothly. She certainly didn’t look like she’d had a bad day to Darcy.

 

The high school looked like a larger, more imposing version of the middle school. A giant sign proclaimed that it was the “SHIELD HIGH SCHOOL: HOME OF THE HEROES!”, complete with a clipart superman to illustrate the point. Phil left them in the car while he went to grab Bruce from the office.

 

Looking into the rearview mirror, Darcy could see Clint’s hands forming what she could only guess was ASL. Natasha nodded, and Darcy decided that this is not a conversation meant for her eyes, regardless of whether or not she could understand it.

 

Darcy was having trouble inserting herself into any interaction that happened with her foster-siblings, really, because she had an overwhelming urge to be honest with them. Her brave, outgoing face that she put on for was definitely not honest. She didn’t know how to act, because even though she didn’t want to lie, she also didn’t trust anyone enough to try to just be Darcy. ( _Yet._ )

 

Phil came back soon, Bruce trailing behind him. Darcy started to unbuckle her seatbelt to allow Bruce to sit in the front seat, but Phil waved her off, opening the back door to let Bruce climb in. Natasha slid to the middle. After Bruce did his seatbelt, Natasha gently lowered his head onto her lap, carding her fingers through his curly brown hair. Bruce started crying quietly, a sound that made Darcy’s chest ache. Natasha murmured quietly to him in a language that Darcy didn’t understand.

           

Once they got home, Darcy locked herself into her room. Today had been too much, and the idea of going back to school tomorrow… It just didn’t bear to think about.

           

She brought out her iPod (thank God for her iPod), and went online. Ian was offline, probably at one of his nerd clubs, but Jane was there. That was good. Darcy needed Jane right now.

           

_Hey Darce. How’s it going?_

            **_shitty_**

_Fosters?_

**_nah, phil’s nice, the sibs ok. its everything else_ **

_Phil? Your new foster dad’s name is Phil???_

**_yeah…._ **

_How many siblings did you say you had?_

**_5_ **

_Name them?_

**_clint, bruce, steve, thor, natasha_ **

_Holy shit._

**_what????_ **

_Darcy, do you remember my boyfriend’s name?_

**_nope, all i remember is hot blond and buff_**

_Yeah, his name is Thor._

**_no fucking way_ **

_You didn’t tell me that you were moving to Shield!!!!!!!_

**_i didn’t think it was important?_ **

_Well, given that I liVE IN SHIELD it kinda is!!!!!!!!!_

**_but ur srsly dating thor??????!!!!!!_ **

_Yep. And I’m coming over tomorrow night!_

**_WhAt????_ **

**_i get to see u in real life????_ **

**_this is hella weird_ **

_Tell me about it._

**ian isnt dating bruce, is he?**

_Hahahano, he lives in London, had you forgotten?_

**_gurl, i can barely remember what town i live in_ **

_This is insane. Can’t wait to see you!!!!_

**_same_ **

Darcy put her iPod down, staring up at the ceiling in shock. Jane lived in Shield. Jane was dating Thor. Jane was coming over tomorrow night. Suddenly, the giant stack of homework didn’t seem quite so daunting.

 

There was a knock at her door.

 

“Enter at your own risk!” she called out.

 

Steve pushed his way through the door. The black eye was healing nicely, but Phil had joked at dinner last night that it was a permanent item in Steve’s wardrobe. No outfit of his was complete without it.

 

“Darcy, hey. I just thought I’d come by to, you know, see how you were holding up,” he stated, blue eyes sincere.

 

“Me? Pfft, I’m fabulous. No need to worry, Stevie.” Darcy was quite an expert at lying through a grin, but the look on Steve’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it. He sat down on the floor next to her.

 

“Look, the first weeks are always hard, so I just wanted you to know, we’re here, okay? We’ve all been there.” Darcy stared at the boy sitting next to her, scrawny and pale with messy blond hair and a black eye and cut lip, and wondered how the hell he managed to sound so goddamn comforting. It didn’t seem right.

 

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, noting that he was just looking at her face and not anywhere else ( _if he was, she would have given him another black eye to match_ ). She started laughing, unable to deal with the absurdity of all parts of her life colliding. Jane was dating Thor, new big-brother Thor with the booming voice and wide grin, _her_ Jane was no longer an escape, from her life. She couldn’t differentiate real happiness with lies, and everything felt warmer and hurt more and it was just too too too much…

 

Her laughter turned to sobs, and Darcy drew her legs up to her chest and buried her head in her knees. She barely registered Steve’s arm around her shoulders, and she would have flinched if she didn’t feel his goodwill coming off him in waves. Somehow they shifted so she was sobbing into his shirt, and he was rubbing small circles on her back in the best show of affection she’d felt since her mother had kicked the bucket. Darcy’s sobs started to quiet.

 

When she had cried herself out, she felt a rush of embarrassment. She didn’t know this boy, didn’t know him at all, and she had just invited him into all her shit. She looked up to tell him she was sorry, but he cut her off.

 

“No. You are _not_ apologizing.” He looked her right in the eyes. “It sounds like you’ve had a shitty day.”

 

Darcy snorted. “More like a shitty four years.”

 

“How many homes?” he asked, no pity in his voice, just understanding.

 

“Why are you helping me?” Steve was too nice. She was now waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

“You’re my new little sister, aren’t you?”

 

“Foster-sister,” she corrected, though being referred to as his little sister made her feel warm inside.

 

“Yeah well, they’re same thing to me. So how many?” he repeated.

 

“Seven,” she admitted, biting her lip and studying the patterns the blinds made on the floor.

 

“Whatcha do, rob convenience stores?” His voice was incredulous. Good for him.

 

“I ran. And I ran. And I ran. I’m not like you, Mr. “my black eye is part of my aesthetic”, I don’t face my problems,” her fingernails were digging into her arm, “I run from them.”

 

Steve nodded, and a flicker of a smile crossed his face as he said, “Well, fight and flight, I’d say we make a good set. They should put our pictures in physiology textbooks. You know–“

 

“Steve! Can you come give me a hand? ” Coulson’s voice interrupted, drifting in through the window.

 

“Gimme a sec, Phil!” Steve called back, before he turned back to Darcy. “Duty calls. I’ll see you at dinner, sis.” He pushed himself back up to his feet.

 

“Don’t call me sis.”

 

“Sure thing. Later, sis.”

 

Darcy grinned. ( _She had a big brother_ )

 


	5. Jane, Spaghetti, and Overly Complicated Sciency Things

“Darcy!”

 

“Nerd!”

 

Darcy rushed through the entry hall, picking her way through the scattering of abandoned backpacks with an excited bounce in her step. Jane stood in the doorway, clad in her typical flannel with a some sort of space t-shirt underneath, and boy, she looked exactly like she did in every facetime and embarrassing selfie. Her hair was complete with the little flyaway wisps that Darcy always loved, and her smile was that _oh god Darcy, what have you done now_ smile that made Darcy feel all warm inside.

 

“You’re here! You’re really here!” Darcy couldn’t contain her excitement, grinning down at her friend with all she had. Wait. Looking _down_?

 

“Oh my god, you’re short! Like adorable short! You’re shorter than Steve! I didn’t know that was possible!”

 

From somewhere behind her, Steve called, “Thanks, Darcy. Way to make my skinny ass feel appreciated!”

 

Darcy pointedly ignored him.

“Yes, Darcy, I’m 5’3”. Gloat all you want, but you’re not all that tall yourself. But I still can’t believe you’re here!” Jane replied, her eyes shining.

 

“Dork, of course I’m here. How many other foster parents named Phil do you know who have six foster kids, one of which is called _Thor_ of all things, in the town of SHIELD?” Darcy rolled her eyes, though she was secretly just as locked in a state of disbelief as her friend.

 

Thor frowned, the hunk somehow having been hiding behind Jane throughout the entire exchange, despite the fact that he was huge and she was tiny. “What’s wrong with my name?”

 

Darcy was not afraid to admit that she might have let out a little squeak when he said that, mostly because she hadn’t noticed that he was there at all and his voice was really loud.

 

“Uh, it’s just… Thor? Not many kids get saddled with the name Thor, you know? Norse isn’t really in…” Darcy trailed off, unable to come up with the words to wipe the confused look off his face. It was Jane’s turn to roll her eyes.

 

“Ignore her, Thor. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You,” she pointed at Darcy, “have got five seconds to give me a hug or I’ll tell Ian that you have a crush on him.”

 

Darcy complied, but she couldn’t help but complain while she did so. “You play dirtier in real life. It’s kinda hot.”

 

Of course that comment earned her a smack on the back of the head.

 

They broke apart quickly, and Darcy wondered how it was that other hugs were so awkward but it wasn’t awkward hugging Jane. Maybe once you laugh hysterically with someone at three in the morning about spaghetti, nothing is weird anymore.

 

Thor was smiling bemusedly at both of them, but he had evidently been briefed by Jane on who exactly was calling his girlfriend hot. Phil didn’t seem to have been included in the loop (Darcy might have forgotten).

 

“Jane? Darcy? Do you two… know each other?” he asked from his newly assumed position in the kitchen doorway.

 

The two girls nodded.

 

“Okay. Well, dinner’s ready and it’s what you asked for, Jane, so I don’t think you want to miss it.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

There was a bustle as the door was finally closed and the three hallway lurkers followed Phil’s route. Steve was already seated at the table, comic book in hand (it was now clear to Darcy as to who the instigator for Clint’s comic book obsession was. Though, to be honest, she thought she’d seen some in Phil’s room so it might go further back than that).

 

“Clint! Natasha! Bruce! Dinner!” Phil called, and Steve seemed to take this as his cue to set his book on the counter and stand up to finish setting the table. He laid down the trivet just as Phil picked up the pot, and Darcy wondered at the cohesion that the two seemed to have. Were they psychically linked or something?

 

As if magically summoned from the depths of his preteen bedroom by the mention of food, Clint was suddenly seated in his normal spot across from Steve. Bruce meandered in a little bit after that, and by the time Darcy, Thor, and Jane had assumed their seats Natasha had appeared as well. It seemed Natasha got shifted over to Bruce’s side of the table when Jane came to visit, occupying the seat Tony had taken on the first night, but she was still the closest to the door. That fact didn’t escape Darcy’s (often underappreciated) perception.

 

The tongs were passed around, and Darcy finally got to see inside the pot. She turned to Jane, eyes wide.

 

“You _didn’t_ ,” Darcy exclaimed.

 

Jane grinned, looking far too pleased with herself. “Well, according to you, it is what happens to people when they get too close to a black hole. They go ‘woo-woo’ and turn into spaghetti,” she mocked.

 

“That is so unfair. You can’t use things I said at three AM against me! Besides, I thought we vowed to forget about the spaghetti incident,” Darcy retorted, feeling the eyes of the rest of the table upon her.

 

Thor was smiling in that Labrador way of his, Natasha was her usual stone-faced self, Phil looked quietly bemused, and Clint was grinning maniacally. Steve just looked exasperated as he said, “Well, I guess I know who to blame for Clint getting spaghetti. You’ll soon come to regret it; he gets it _everywhere_.”

 

The dinner passed without incident, though Clint did indeed get the sauce everywhere. Jane was Jane, and Darcy was coming to realize that dinner at Phil’s always included copious amounts of laughter and snark, so all in all the evening was a success. It drew to a close when Thor announced that it was time for Jane to get home. Darcy pouted, but Jane reached up to pat her on the head and smiled.

 

“It’s okay Darce, I’ll soon be back  to bore you to death with in-depth explanations of an Einstein-Rosen bridge” were her parting words.

 

Darcy chased after her and yelled, “No matter how many times you say that, I’ll never understand what it means!”

 

Thor looked back, seemingly confused as to how someone could spend time with Jane and not know that. “It’s a wormhole,” he offered by way of explanation. The two of them got in the car and, with a smile and a wave, drove off.

 

“She could’ve just said that,” Darcy muttered, coming back up the steps into the house. It had been nice, though, meeting Jane in person. And if Thor was her boyfriend, he couldn’t be that bad.

 

 

The next day was a Saturday, and Darcy woke up to the prospect of having to spend the entire day with her foster siblings. That was not, as it turned out, the case.

 

“Clint’s got archery practice, Natasha’s got ballet, Steve’s getting in some community service hours, and Thor’s doing some blacksmithing. It’s just you and Bruce staying home, but Tony might stop by later,” Phil listed from his spot in the living room. He was tying his tie, which was noticeably more expensive than his normal ones.

 

“Where’re you going, Mr. Fancy?” she asked, mouth full of poptart, coming to sit on the couch next to him.

           

He sighed and directed his next words to the heavens. “Please Universe, never let this girl meet Skye.”

           

Darcy frowned. “Who’s Skye?”

           

“Another child I fostered for a while with the same knack for giving me nicknames,” he answered, finishing with the tie. “If you met her, I think the world would implode.”

           

“Where is she now? We should totally get together,” Darcy replied, in part because this Skye girl sounded interesting, in part because her throat had just tightened with the idea of getting shipped away from Phil’s.

           

“She got adopted by my friend May.” Phil stood, as if to signify the end of the conversation. Darcy stood with him.

           

“Uh-uh, Mr. Fancy, you are using the same technique republicans use when asked about global warming. It’s called _avoidance_. Where’re you going all dressed up?” she pushed, disguising her worry. She didn’t like it when adults went somewhere important that they didn’t want to tell her about.

           

“I’m just going to have a meeting with Mr. Pierce, Darcy, it’s fine,” he reassured her. “Will you be okay here alone with Bruce and maybe-Tony?”

           

“Depends. Is he gonna do the whole rage monster routine?” Darcy had been briefed on said routine by Clint the day before.

           

A look of annoyance crossed Phil’s face. “Don’t call it that. I’m not sure if I want to leave Bruce alone with _you_ if that’s how you’re going to talk to him.”

 

His voice was harsher than it had ever been while talking to Darcy. She couldn’t stop herself from flinching, some subconscious part of her expecting a slap. It didn’t come, but Darcy was still humbled. She looked at the ground. She was bad at keeping control of her mouth. An old memory spoke in her head, _You need to learn your place, so I’ll teach it to you._

 

“Sorry,” she murmured.

 

Phil sighed. “It’s okay Darcy, but remember. Your words can hurt.”

           

Darcy nodded, but didn’t look up.

           

“Hey, it’s okay. Just be careful, yeah? He’s sensitive. He’s been through a lot,” Phil said. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You all have.”

           

Gazing down at her, he sighed as if that pained him. Then he walked into the kitchen, leaving Darcy with a funny feeling in her chest.

           

           

“Hey, Bruce! How’s it going? Guess we’re kinda stuck here together for the next… ugh, I’m too lazy to tell time. Until someone gets back? Yeah. So… hi?”

           

Bruce blinked up at her from the couch, where he had been happily seated with a laptop surrounded by what looked like physics textbooks. His expression was akin to what one might look like after experiencing a whirlwind, the same expression that, Darcy had to admit, was quite a common response to Darcy entering a quiet space. She couldn’t help it. Quiet was just… boring.

           

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Bruce answered, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself.

           

“Awesome.” Darcy plopped down next to him, causing him to jump. “So, what’re you doing?”

           

“I’m–uh–just doing some homework,” he stuttered, folding in on himself in just the way Darcy _hadn’t_ wanted to cause. Dammit.

           

She peered at the books surrounding him, and wasn’t surprised when it all looked like gobbledygook. One couldn’t be friends with Jane and still hang onto delusions about one’s relative intelligence in the field of science.

           

“What is this, Physics plus plus plus?” she asked, trying to figure out how someone even managed to fit pi into an equation that long.

           

“Um, AP Physics, yeah.” He was slowly edging away from her.

           

“What’re you working on? Not that I intend to understand any of what will come out of you mouth, but c’mon, humor a girl,” she urged. If there was one thing that Darcy had learned from Jane, aside from the fact that people were _definitely_ not capable of turning into pasta, it was that nerds liked talking about science.

           

Sure enough, his eyes lit up. “Well, I was talking with the teacher, Mr. Reed, about all the theoretical potentials for a serum that would expand mass without violating the laws of physics, or, alternatively, a method of subverting the laws of physics to allow for that kind of thing. So I’m writing down my ideas. But right now in actual class, we’re talking about theoretical forms of faster than light propulsion. There are obvious flaws in Alcubierre’s warp drive, such as the fact that we haven’t actually discovered the types of matter necessary to bend space in that way, and the fact that some physicists argue that the only way to possibly utilize such a drive would be using pre-set charges, left at the speed of light, thus creating a paradox because the only way to use Alcubierre’s warp drive would be to already have Alcubierre’s warp drive. But his overall theories are interesting, and his equations are cool.” Bruce paused for breath.

           

Yup, Darcy thought, totally nailed it. Genius nerd. She nodded and tried to look like she understood anything that he was saying. Bruce took that as permission to continue, and the way he half-smiled in shock at the fact that someone was willing to listen made sitting through science tolerable.

           

“Yeah, so of course we talked about negative mass propulsion because that’s pretty basic, it’s just the juxtaposition of negative and positive mass, but again that has the problem of us never actually having found negative mass. And then there’s the old favorite, the Einstein-Rosen bridge–“

           

“I actually know what that is now! Though I really don’t understanding why you guys don’t just call it a wormhole. I mean, it’s a flipping wormhole right? So why call it something complicated?” Darcy interjected, pleased she could actually participate.

           

Bruce let out a little huff of air through his nostrils in amusement. “Because it makes us sound smarter.”

           

That made Darcy laugh, and Bruce smiled a full smile, and Darcy felt like she’d won a little victory. She noted with happiness that he’d lost all the tension along his shoulders, relaxing back onto the pillows.

           

“Do you and Jane get together and science?” Darcy asked, interested. Bruce seemed like one of the few people who might be able to keep up with her.

           

“Thor’s girlfriend? Well, she’s in my class, but she’s leagues ahead of me in this area. You should hear some of her astrophysical theories, they’re brilliant. I’m more interested in, like I mentioned, screwing with the laws of conservation of mass. Mostly I ‘science’ with Tony, but sometimes she joins us.” Bruce finished in a rush, as if finally realizing just how much he’d said in the last ten minutes.

           

Darcy was impressed. It was probably about fifty times more than what he’d said to her in the five whole days she’d been at Phil’s.

           

Their sudden awkward silence was interrupted by a yell from the kitchen that made Darcy jump off the couch and trip over the coffee table.

           

“What the motherfricking frack was that frick-fracking noise for the love of frick who the frick-frack is in this fricking house–“ Darcy was euphemizing from her position on the floor.

           

            Bruce, the little shit, was laughing at her. She flipped him off from where she was laying, face smooshed uncomfortably against the floor, which only served to make him laugh harder.

           

“I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap, Max,” came a voice at the doorway. In it stood Tony, looking like he was enjoying the show a bit too much. “It was Max, wasn’t it?”

           

Pulling herself to her feet, Darcy retorted, “Darcy, actually. Do you always shout about people’s lack of decent coffee after breaking and entering?”

           

Tony grinned, and yup, he was definitely a Stark. “Technically it’s not breaking, just entering. And I have come-in-whenever-you-want-just-don’t-break-the-neighbors permission from Phil, so I wasn’t even breaking the law,” he countered.

           

Bruce’s eyes had a certain gleam to them. “Just ask him how he got here.”

           

“Whose side are you on, man?” Tony asked, turning to face Bruce incredulously. At the other boy’s shrug, he resumed his focus on Darcy. “And before you ask, it was only slightly illegal.”

           

Darcy held her hands up. “I personally didn’t need to know. Like, really.”

           

Tony took that as an excuse to leave, guiding Bruce off to his room with promises of sciency things. Right before they went in, however, Bruce turned back.

           

“Hey Darcy, thanks for–for–for earlier. It’s–just, thanks,” he said.

           

“No problem. But if you let Stark burn down my nice new bedroom, I will play the most annoying song on my iPod playlist outside your window at three AM,” she responded, but there was no bite in it.

           

            “I’ll hold you to that!” came the shout from inside the bedroom, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

           

“Well… yeah.” He scurried into the bedroom after Tony.

 

The poor guy. He was so awkward it was painful, but at the same time kinda sweet.

           

 _Well_ , Darcy thought, absentmindedly pulling out her iPod, _me and Steve are cool, now Bruce too, Clint likes me, and Thor kinda should like me by association. Best first week ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this kinda was mostly written on a 14 hour plane ride, so if anything sounds wildly out of place please tell me. Also, I'm pretty sure I failed normal physics, so I have no idea what they actually talk about in AP physics. Physics geniuses/my physics teachers, please don't kill me. What I wrote about Alcubierre's drive and that was all without the use of the internet, purely derived from my scant memories of a SciEx project, so if you know more about this stuff please let me know. If anyone is wildly OOC, just let me know, because I wrote about half of this under the influence of sleeping pills.
> 
> Oh, also, if anyone wants a deleted scene or something told by another character, just let me know. That sounds fun.


	6. Green is the Color of Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for panic attacks and implied past abuse.  
> I'm not completely sure I'm happy with this chapter, but I knew that there were definitely darker parts that I needed to go into. So I did. 
> 
> And thanks again to all of you people who have shown me support (and in the case of some irl peeps, veiled death threats if I don't post), you guys are amazing. Thanks!

Of course, the smooth sailing couldn’t last.

 

Another week and a half passed in relative peace. Clint continued being her new little foster-brother, displaying a unique ability to climb places that would give a chimpanzee the shakes; Steve checked in on her periodically, helping her adjust; Thor decided he should know Jane’s friend a little better and took her out for lunch on the weekend; and even Bruce gave her a hand with catching up on her science and math homework.

 

The only front where nothing changed was the Natasha one.

 

Sure, she and Darcy had developed an interesting ritual of connecting eyes exactly twice every World History class, but other than that the Russian made no effort to interact with Darcy at all. In fact, with the exception of Clint, she didn’t seem to make an effort to interact with anyone.

 

That wasn’t Darcy’s shit though, so she tried her best to not get involved. She figured she had enough of her own shit going on. It wasn’t until Wednesday night that she realized that maybe involvement would be necessary.

 

Tensions had been rising between Phil and Clint all week. Clint’s lighthearted car humor was exchanged for scathing remarks that could all easily be traced back to his anger at his adopted father. Natasha arrived late for pickup every single day, but wouldn’t comment on it when Phil asked her why.

 

That Wednesday, though, Phil had a meeting. He prepped them on it the whole car ride to school, explaining that he was meeting with Darcy, Bruce, and Natasha’s respective social workers, and that it was imperative that everyone be on time at pick-up. Phil made sure not point any fingers, but Darcy swore that the temperature in the car dropped by ten degrees.

 

“Guys, I really need to make a good impression. This might be a big step towards moving to adopt Bruce, and we need to take care of Bruce, right?” he asked, his eyes settling on Natasha. It was no secret that Natasha had developed her own brand of protectiveness for Bruce, and it seemed that Phil was not above exploiting it.

 

Natasha nodded. Clint opened his mouth, as if to argue, but a swift kick from the redhead silenced him.

 

The day passed in the simple routine that Darcy was growing used to ( _don’t get used to it, don’t get used to it, it never stays_ ), and she kept getting to use her new smile. She liked her new smile, even though it scared her, because it didn’t hurt her face like her fake ones did.

 

Natasha was waiting for her outside her last period classroom, a fact that almost gave Darcy a heart attack. The brunette was seriously considering buying a collar with bells and stringing it to her foster-sister, if only to prevent possible coronary failures in the future. She said as much to Natasha.

 

The Russian offered one of her small mouth quirks before turning wordlessly and beginning to move in the direction of the parking lot. Slinging her backpack higher up on her shoulder, the taller girl followed, longer strides eclipsing the gap.

 

As she clambered into the front seat, Darcy saw Phil look back and visibly exhale.

 

“Well, let’s get you guys dropped off. The meeting shouldn’t take too long, and then we can get take-out from that Chinese place you like, Clint. Sound good?”

 

Clint, looking up from Natasha’s hands, glared at him. “I’m deaf, Phil. Nothing _sounds_ good,” he sniped, turning his head to showcase his purple hearing aids.

 

Phil gave him a look, which Clint returned. The silent exchange continued for a few seconds, ending with Clint glancing away, burying his head in one of the comic books on the floor. Darcy twisted her hands in her lap anxiously.

 

 

Darcy understood why Clint liked the Chinese place. Actually, Darcy didn’t understand why Clint didn’t _live_ at the Chinese place. The dumplings were individually wrapped bundles of heaven, Chinese chives mingling with ground pork and a whole host of other moan-inducing ingredients. Darcy ate twelve before taking a breath, inhaling the food in a style reminiscent of Thor. Thor himself was having a bit of everything, his plate stacked high with foods that Darcy was pretty sure should never even be at the same dinner table together.

 

It didn’t escape Darcy’s notice that Natasha barely touched her plate at all.

 

 

That night, after she had finished her homework (or, well, most of it), Darcy lay in bed with her iPod. Ian was complaining to her about nerd stuff, and Darcy was happily texting him back with sarcastic sympathies. It was about eleven thirty before she heard a noise.

 

It wasn’t the normal everyone’s-asleep house creak, nor the padded footstep of Thor as he crept towards the fridge for a midnight snack. The noise was a whimper. Darcy sat up in bed, tossing the covers off her legs, and stayed still to see if she had imagined it.

 

There was no second whimper. Instead, there was screaming.

 

It startled Darcy, causing her to fall out of bed as the shouts tore through the air. The screams weren’t in English, but Darcy understood the implication all too well. Pain. Someone was in pain.

 

Stumbling through the doorframe, she found herself face to face with Clint and Steve. Phil opened his door and joined them as well. Together, as one, they turned to face the empty bedroom across the hall from Darcy.

 

The screaming was still going, taking the peaceful quiet and ripping it to shreds, shattering the night with hoarse words and inhumane sounds. The four facing the door hesitated, before Clint darted out and twisted the handle. He bolted into the room, allowing Darcy a clear view of Natasha’s bedroom. She wished the door would close again.

 

Natasha was still asleep, eyes screwed shut as she thrashed helplessly against the invisible specters that haunted her. Her pale skin gleamed with sweat, and her hands were scratching at her arms, marring her skin with red marks.

 

Clint moved towards her, whispering, “Tasha. Tasha it’s okay. Tasha, you’re alright now! Tasha, you’re safe!”

 

The redhead shook her head, though Darcy doubted that she understood what was being said. “Nyet, nyet,” she repeated, “No. Nyet.”

 

Face betraying his pain, Clint tried to get closer to Natasha in an attempt to wake her from her nightmare. Her eyes snapped open. There was a shift, and suddenly Natasha was all bristling spines and venom.

 

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!” she hissed, her eyes not showing any sign that she recognized her surroundings. “Tell Uncle Ivan that I don’t want his boys tonight! Tell him that he can kill me for all I care!”

 

“Tasha, Tasha it’s Clint–“ her best friend tried, but he seemed to shrink. In a matter of moments he was back next to Darcy, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked at Steve, then at Phil, then at Darcy, silently pleading with them to do something.

 

Phil seemed to be at a loss. Apparently none of the training he’d received as a social worker had prepared him for something like this. Steve took charge.

 

“Darcy, go in there. You’re not a guy. That will help. Go,” he commanded, his murmur leaving no room for arguments.

 

Darcy wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t handle people freaking out. She couldn’t handle herself freaking out, goddammit. She wanted to run to her room and blast bad pop music and hide herself under the covers, but there was something so broken, so openly lost and hurt and defeated in the way that Natasha was staring at the room like a prisoner preparing for death row. Darcy steeled herself, chewed fingernails biting into her palms. She had to go in to help.

 

Step by step Darcy forced herself across Natasha’s bedroom, noting as she did so that there was nothing really of personal importance anywhere. Darcy’s room, which had been hers for a mere fraction of the time that Natasha had been at Phil’s, looked far more lived in than this.

 

Natasha was glaring at her like a wounded animal, trapped and frightened but snarling in spite of it. Her green eyes glinted dangerously in the dark, and Darcy swallowed.

 

“Hey, Natasha, it’s Darcy. You know, your new foster-sister?” she asked, slowly creeping closer and closer to the bed. “You’re dreaming, kay? Please wake up.”

 

She reached her hand out to touch Natasha’s shoulder lightly, and the world went sideways.

 

Her lungs pleaded for air as her body was slammed into the floor, a loud ringing in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. She was locked in a closet and she couldn’t breathe.

 

She was shaking and she couldn’t stop and it was terrifying. Why couldn’t she draw breath? She needed air and she needed space and the walls were closing in on her and her heart was clogging up her throat and there was a pounding in her head. She needed to get out of here but she couldn’t move. She needed to scream but she couldn’t open her mouth.

 

She could hear fragments of a conversation, but none of it made sense. _Help me_ , she thought, but no one could hear her. Her mind spun round in circles, her body trembling and out of her control. She was floating. Why couldn’t she feel the floor? It was under her, wasn’t it? Was she going to die?

Darcy was aware of someone settling next to her. She forced her eyes open. Too much light, too much sound. She closed them again. She tried to take deep breaths, but all she felt was dizzy.

 

The world around her went quiet. Quiet was better. Better, but she still couldn’t breathe.

 

“Sestrenka.”

 

Darcy heard that. Was she supposed to understand that? Yes. It was Natasha. It had to be Natasha. Did Natasha understand that she couldn’t breathe?

“Sestrenka, breathe. It’s okay. Breathe. With me.”

 

Natasha fell into a pattern of breathing, which Darcy struggled to pick up. It helped, though. She could open her eyes. She found herself staring back into Natasha’s own green eyes, and the color was soothing. Comforting. Green was the color of her new walls. Green was the color of Phil’s tie. Green was the color of Erik’s favorite hat. Green was the color of Safe.

 

Natasha was still talking.

 

“Is this your first?”

 

Darcy blinked. First what? The pieces fell into place. This was a panic attack. She should’ve remembered. She shook her head.

 

“What helps?”

 

Darcy meant to reply, _Talking. Please just talk to me,_ but instead all that came out of her mouth was, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

 

“It’s okay. Breathe with me.”

  
            Slowly, bit by bit, Darcy’s lungs started to fill properly. She no longer felt like she needed to escape. Natasha stayed by her side the whole time.

 

It was only as Darcy returned to most of her normal self that she was able to see that Natasha, to put it nicely, looked like absolute shit. Her eyes were heaving with bags and her arms were lined with self-inflicted scratch marks. Her hand, which had somehow found Darcy’s, was trembling slightly.

 

That, of course, was when Natasha must have realized that Darcy was okay. The Russian girl glanced away, then back, then away again, looking far younger than her fourteen years.

 

“I am so sorry,” she started. “I am so sorry.”

 

Darcy didn’t allow her to finish. She surged upwards, wrapping her in a firm hug. Natasha tensed, and for a fleeting second the brunette wondered if she was going to be judo thrown again, but then Natasha’s arms encircled her.

 

They stayed like that, locked together, until Darcy fell asleep.


	7. Is She Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I'm really, really sorry about how long this chapter took. Thanks for sticking with me and reminding me not to slack off. So, on the topic of excuses, I probably rewrote this chapter five times before it got to this point, and I still don't love it, but I figured you guys have waited long enough.

 

She was comfortable. She felt warm, and safe. So she drifted.

 

Bits of conversation floated through her fog, but they were unimportant so she paid them no mind. As time wore on, however, she became more and more aware of her surroundings. Blankets were pulled up to her chin, far higher than they normally remained as she slept. She opened her eyes.

 

Darcy was in her new room, pale green walls reflecting the morning light. That was odd. It was a Thursday, and on school days the sun didn’t rise until breakfast. She reached for her bedside table, looking for her iPod, but realized that she was in a loft bed. Her new loft bed.

 

The events of last night hit her in a rush, and she thought it through a few times to reassure herself that it wasn’t just a dream. Natasha, nightmares, panic attacks, and, strangest of all, being comforted during that panic attack. The thought was nice. These people, these strange people who were broken just like she was, they cared. It was such an alien concept that she felt herself grinning without thinking about it.

 

Someone cleared their throat, and she lazily craned her neck downwards towards the door. Phil was standing there, smiling, dressed in his typical suit and tie ( _not the green one, but oh well_ ). In his hands he held a plate of toast and a mug.

 

Using the knuckles of the hand holding the mug, knocked on the side of the doorframe. Apparently he needed permission to enter her room. Darcy appreciated the sentiment, but made a mental note to check Phil for any other vampiric traits later before nodding him through the door.

 

“Feeling better?” he asked.

 

Darcy nodded again, propping herself up onto her elbows. “Shouldn’t I be at school?” she asked.

 

Coming to stand by the ladder to her bed, Phil shook his head. “No, I called you, Natasha, and Clint all in sick. I wanted you girls to get some rest after last night, and I wouldn’t have been able to get Clint to school if I tried.”

 

“He’d leave cockroaches under your pillow,” she theorized, remembering all of Clint’s exploits over the past week.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Phil sighed. “Anyway, he’s with Natasha now. I thought I’d check on you, and bring you some breakfast.”

 

Darcy cooed. “Aw, thanks. But I’m good, really. Right as rain, even though I’ve never really understood that expression. What’s right about rain?” she said, intentionally deflecting the topic. Phil must have seen right through her, however, because his eyebrows went up again. His eyebrows seemed to be very good at calling bullshit.

 

“Really, Phil. I’m okay,” she promised. “Just looking forward to that awesome toast.”

 

The man seemed to realize when there was nothing more that he could do. He nodded, passing the plate and cup up to her. Darcy sighed, taking a long sip from the mug.

 

“Tea! This is tea! I’ve been deceived!” she exclaimed.

 

Phil only laughed, walking out of the room.

 

 

Clint came in to see her later too. Within a few seconds of appearing in the doorway he was scrambling up the ladder, careful smile on his face. Darcy startled, swearing, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

“You can’t just appear like that!” she exclaimed, pulling her knees to her chest. He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his sandy hair.

 

“Sorry. Actually, that’s why I’m here. Tasha wants to say sorry. She’s sleeping now though, but I think she’ll come in later,” he said, perching on the bed railing. “She’s starting to care about you, and that scares her.”

 

Darcy blinked. What? “What?”

 

“She likes you. She thinks you’re the bees-knees or whatever Steve would say,” Clint confirmed. His grin was a little too shit-eating, like he knew something that she didn’t.

 

“Why does Steve talk like an grandpa sometimes?” she asked, momentarily sidetracked. Darcy found it hilarious how Steve could go from swearing like a soldier to using phrases like he’d just stepped out of the Great Gatsby.

 

“Oh, he was raised by two old ladies for a while. You should see the sweaters.” Clint snorted, and Darcy suddenly had a very urgent desire to see these sweaters. “Anyway, Tasha likes you. She needed a sister, I think. She’s just not the best at showing her feelings.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” Darcy commented wryly. Internally, she felt impossibly warm. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning. “But she really likes me?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Swear on my bow. Don’t start getting mushy on me. Anyway, I gotta go do all my homework for tomorrow. I keep getting in trouble because apparently ain’t ain’t a word. ‘pparently my teacher’s never been to Iowa.”

 

As quickly as he came, he was gone, and Darcy was left once again off balance. Was it really that impossible to have a full conversation with one of her siblings?

 

 

Darcy drifted off sometime around two in the afternoon. When she woke up, there was a poorly wrapped present on her chest. There seemed to be more tape than actual wrapping paper, and the paper was a design with smiling snowmen and Christmas trees. With fumbling fingers, she found a corner and tore it open. Grin growing on her face, she took out the present.

 

It was a t-shirt with letters cut out of some other fabric, probably from some other shirt. Unfolding it, she started laughing.

 

_BODYGUARDS? I HAVE A SISTER_

 

It was absurd. Absolutely absurd. Had Natasha made this? It made sense; she got the feeling Clint wasn’t one who would be very good at sewing, and the letters were stitched on expertly. But it was crazy. She’d exchanged what, maybe two sentences with the girl?

 

One panic attack didn’t make them friends, and definitely didn’t make them sisters. Sisters meant connection. Sisters meant the pain of being torn away. Suddenly Steve’s insistence of calling her ‘sis’ seemed a lot more dangerous. She loved these people. She loved this fucked up family, and now they were starting to love her back, and it was not a thing she was used to dealing with. The girl that she thought hated her made her a t-shirt proclaiming them to be sisters. No more wonderland, please, beam her up, Scotty. The laugh died in her throat.

 

Pressing the heels of her palms over her eyes, she groaned. There had always been a routine before this. The foster family would either be dickheads or be kind of distant, aware of her ever present expiration date. There was a reason she was on the ‘hard to place’ list. She was not equipped to deal with real feelings.

 

Shifting, she pressed her back against the wall. Should she run again? They’d put her somewhere else, maybe another asshole, but at least she’d know where she stood. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with this stupid vulnerability thing.

 

A voice echoed in her ears, still as old and weathered as she remembered it. _‘The little girl always runs. You know how they measure bravery, little one? Staying. Not how ready you are to die, not how ready you are to fight, but whether you are willing to stay.’_

_But I’m not brave_ , Darcy thought. _I’ve never been brave._ She stared at the t-shirt in her lap with a growing sense of dread. She couldn’t do it. She’d have to run again.

 

 

Before she could start making plans to run (when, where, how, how to get Phil in the least trouble), she heard the front door open and the sound of heavy footsteps trudging through the entry hallway.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” called a voice, and Darcy immediately recognized it as Tony’s. He must have come home with the other boys, probably to nerd out with Bruce. As far as Darcy could tell, Tony was basically another member of the family. She’d snuffed out some very probable daddy issues hiding under his easy-come-easy-go façade.

 

Realizing she was still in her ratty pajamas (Phil had offered her new ones, and she’d said no. They were the only thing she always took from home to home), Darcy climbed out of bed for the first time that day. Rummaging in her drawers, she pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into the t-shirt that Natasha had given her.

 

Step one of her plan was already developed: convince them that nothing was wrong.

 

“Are you decent?” Steve asked, a hand covering his eyes. Darcy silently berated herself for letting him approach without hearing him (getting soft, was she?), but rearranged her face into a wide smile.

 

Making her voice husky, she purred, “You’ll have to look and see.”

 

Steve’s hand dropped, his eyes bugging out. “Please,” he pleaded. “Never, _ever_ use that voice _ever_ again. I think I have to bleach my brain now.”

 

“Don’t worry, Stevie, I won’t,” she giggled. He rolled his eyes, and she noticed that he was sporting a fresh black eye over the top of his old one. _Is this guy in a fight club, or does he just look naturally punchable?_ she wondered idly, sitting down backwards in her office chair.

 

“So, how did your day off go? I see you’ve been adopted,” he noted, moving into the room and perching on her drawers.

 

Darcy’s heart picked up. Phil hadn’t adopted her, had he? That would make running away legally his responsibility, and he might get in trouble, and why hadn’t she been told? Steve must have seen the panic on her face, because he instantly corrected himself.

 

“Not by Phil! I meant by Natasha. You know, the shirt?” he asked, gesturing to said shirt.

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess.”

 

“One of her great discoveries of how to be a human being again is humor. You wouldn’t believe how well she can dad joke,” he proclaimed.

 

That made Darcy pause. “Before yesterday, I wasn’t sure she could talk. Now you’re telling me she makes jokes?”

 

Steve’s eyebrows arched, his eyes bright. “She’s traumatized. She’s not dead,” he chastised. Darcy felt her cheeks flush, and she looked down. She should know that herself. How many times had she heard the comments “Oh, this one doesn’t talk,” or “You’re smiling? Miracles do happen,” before she learned to put on a fake smile?

 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into Steve’s clear blue eyes. “It’s okay,” he assured. “I know Natasha’s not the fuzziest, but if life was easy we’d all be Tony.”

 

Darcy wondered if Steve had somehow missed the massive daddy issues Tony seemed to be hiding.

 

“Thanks, bro,” she said, re-conjuring her smile. _I’m running, and then I won’t have to care_.

 

“No problem. Come on, Phil says you’ve been in here all day. As entertaining as that iPod looks, I get the feeling that you’ve probably got some homework. If you come outside now, you can probably convince Tony that he’ll score points in the Pepper sector if he helps you with your homework. From what I hear, she’s damned well pissed at him,” Steve commented, gripping onto the back of her chair and pulling her forward across the floor.

 

Playfully slapping his hand away, Darcy rose and walked with him into the hallway. “Is she ever,” she started.

 

She desperately tried not to think of the fully packed backpack that was shoved in her bottom drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the lack of Natasha and Darcy together in this chapter, I know a lot of you wanted that, but give it a chapter, I promise. Oh, and if you want to follow (or even just stalk) the lamest blog on tumblr, here I am: ohfucktherewashomework.tumblr.com


	8. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! S finally finished this chapter? Miracles do happen! So this one is longer than normal, hopefully to make up for the fact that I am a shitty updater. These characters do not behave, I swear to God. Thanks for reading this, guys!

Natasha was no different during that afternoon than she had been for the past weeks that Darcy had been at Phil’s. She barely glanced in Darcy’s direction, even when the boys were all joking about Darcy’s new shirt, and she seemed even jumpier than usual. Thor putting down his glass a little too hard was enough to make the redhead twitch. Clint laughing a little too loud was enough to make her knuckles whiten around her fork. Darcy mentally put her hands up in surrender, and accepted that she’d probably never understand Natasha. Now she wouldn’t even be here long enough to want to try.

 

After dinner Darcy tried to corner her, figured a normal person would say thank you after being given a gift, but Natasha disappeared into her room before she could manage anything. Darcy’s thoughts again drifted to her backpack.

 

That night Darcy got out a piece of paper. Seated at the desk beneath her bed, she let the lamp cast long shadows on the walls. She titled the page “Essentials”.

 

  1.      money (need to take. from? ~~Steve~~? Bruce? ~~Thor~~? ~~Clint~~?)
  2.      food (steal from pantry)
  3.      clothes
  4.      jacket
  5.      toiletries
  6.      blanket
  7.      knife



 

She already had most of the stuff, and she could take the rest from Phil. She could do this. She could run away, and she’d be sent to another foster parent who’d hardened from caring about such broken kids. It would work. She could run, and this would work.

 

Seeing no point in putting it off, Darcy walked over to the bottom drawer of her dresser and prodded it open with her toe. The backpack was soft to her touch as she lifted it out, worn down by four years of use. She ran her fingers over the badly repaired tears as she walked back to the chair, feeling a tightness settle into the middle of her chest. Had it only been two weeks and five days since she had walked with this backpack up the steps to Phil’s house? It felt like so much longer.

 

( _Two and a half weeks and she was already running. Weak.)_

 

Darcy lifted the left strap and flipped it, revealing a list of names written in sharpie.

_Juarez._ The last name of the firefighter who let her sleep in his cot for the days it took until CPS arrived. Cesar Juarez.

_Paxton_. The Paxtons had been horrible, making her wash dishes with scalding water if she made a single mistake. She ran.

_Olson._ The Olsons had been kind, if a little distanced. When their _real_ daughter had gone into the hospital, Darcy ran to save them the bills of keeping another child.

 

 _Pace._ The Paces had expected a little angel girl, their own perfect little daughter. Darcy learned to play the part, but she couldn’t handle it. She ran.

_Miller._ The Millers liked to yell and slam doors, but at each other, not at Darcy (unless Mr. Miller was hitting the booze). They liked the cheque that came with a foster, though, and didn’t notice she was gone for two days.

_Gerrior._ The Gerriors were saccharin sweet, all fake smiles and empty platitudes. One of their biological daughters had made the game of smiling very sweetly at the dinner table while pinching Darcy’s thigh as hard as she could, getting Darcy in trouble for making faces at the table. Darcy’s thigh was a myriad of black and blue before she escaped through the back door.

_Mason._ Darcy had liked the Masons. Their house was home to warm TV dinners and no expectations. They gave Darcy space while allowing her to live how she wanted. They gave her an iPod. But their street got shot up, and them with it.

_Mayer._ Her most recent foster parent was an asshole, plain and simple. He loved all kids except his fosters, drunk himself under the table regularly, and had a temper. Raven, one of the two other foster kids in his house, was the one most damaged by his outbursts. Charles was devastated he couldn’t protect her, and Darcy just kind of…faded. She didn’t want to leave Raven, who had come to look up to her like a big sister, but hey, she was shit at commitment.

 

Erik would be disappointed with her for giving up with this one. He wouldn’t hold it against her, though, he’d just sigh and try to find her a new place. She hoped. Taking the Sharpie that she’d stolen from Phil in off of her desk, she readied herself to add a new name to the list. She uncapped her pen and started inking in the C.

 

There was a buzz from the desk. Darcy set down the bag and grabbed her iPod, squinting at the bright screen.

           

            _Hey Darce, you ok?_

_Haven’t heard from you in days_

_Ian thought you must have been abducted by aliens_

 

Shit. Jane. Jane Jane Jane Jane. Darcy sat down heavily in her chair, head in her hands, iPod on the desk. How could she run away from Jane? She finally was in a reality where she could go meet up with her best friend every day if she wanted, finally could give her actual hugs and watch her actual face screw up at Darcy’s bad jokes. How would she be able to explain to Jane that she had run?

           

Jane would Hate her. Jane would capital H hate her, and she’d never want to talk to Darcy again, and she would tell Ian to stop talking to her, and, and, and…

           

Darcy was crying before she realized she was crying. It was too much. It was always too much. She needed to leave, she needed to, she was getting so close it hurt and she needed to get out, out, out. Jane would think she didn’t care about her, Steve and Phil would be disappointed in her, Clint would be mad at her, and the rest of them probably wouldn’t even care, but she needed out before this mess of feeling in her lungs exploded.

           

She wasn’t sobbing; this type of crying wasn’t nearly that cathartic. This was feeling the tightness build up in her chest as tears spilled silently from her eyes, this was little whimpers that made her clamp her hand over her mouth. This was feeling like her body was a live wire, convulsing without release.

           

It was devastating.

 

                        _Darce?_

_Darce, you’re always on your iPod at this time of night._

_You’re scaring me._

_Goddammit if you are in the bathroom or something I S2G…_

_Darcy?_

Darcy’s phone was buzzing on the table, little screen lighting up with each new message. She wanted more than anything to answer it, to assuage Jane of her fears, but her fingers were trembling too badly and her eyes were too blurry. With a couple deep, shuddering breaths she was able make out the little keyboard. A few more and her fingers were steady enough.

           

            **sorry, my ipod just died. you worry too much**

_With you it’s justified._

**yeah yeah, you know you love me**

_Yeah, I do._

_That’s why I can’t focus on my English hw when you don’t answer._

Darcy’s eyes started watering anew, and she pinched her thigh to control herself. Running away all the time was easier when it wasn’t abandonment of someone this perfect, abandonment of someone that Darcy in no way deserved. She wanted to tell Jane, right then and there, what she was planning. Half of her wanted Jane to convince her to stay. But all she said was:

 

                        **you just hate english :)**

**im onto you, woman**

_Haha, very funny._

_But seriously, how do you right a 5 page essay in a night?_

Banter. Cool, she could do this.

 

**sucks to suck**

_That’s it, I’m never helping you with your science ever again._

**noooooo, im gonna fail without youuuuu**

_Then get your essay-writing ass on FaceTime and help me, damn you._

           

Fuck. Darcy had just managed to regain control of her breathing, but she was sure her face still betrayed exactly what she had been doing in the seconds after Jane’s first texts. Her tears were still wet on her cheeks, and Darcy quickly brought her hands up to dash them away. She turned on her iPod’s front facing camera and examined herself, fixing herself up until she was sure that the dim lighting would conceal any left overs from the tearfest.

           

Darcy wanted to have one last talk with Jane, untouched by her upcoming betrayal. Jane picked up on the first ring.

           

“Okay, Darcy, you gotta help me,” she begged. “Does Desdemona actually _do_ anythin– whoa, are you okay?”

           

Darcy put on her best sarcastic face. “Wow. Rude.”

           

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, you just look like shit.”

           

“You say the sweetest things. Honestly, every conversation with you positively skyrockets my self esteem.”

           

Jane frowned. “I’ve been around you long enough to know deflection when I see it. Are you okay, Darcy? Did Natasha do anything to upset you? Thor told me about the other night–“

           

“It’s not Natasha. Just drop it, okay?” Darcy cut her friend off, rubbing her eye tiredly.

           

Jane hesitated, then nodded. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

           

“Of course.” The lie felt heavy and thick on her tongue.

           

On the small screen, Jane straightened. She cracked her neck from side to side, and flexed her fingers. “Okay, Darce. Help me not fail English.”

           

“I don’t think your teachers would like it very much if they knew an eighth grader was helping you write sophomore papers,” Darcy commented wryly.

           

“Shut up.”

           

Darcy snorted. “Come on, it’s not rocket science.”

           

“Need I remind you which of the two of us can actually _do_ rocket science?”

Jane asked.

           

“Do you have a thesis?”

           

“Othello sucks?”

           

“You’re hopeless.”

 

 

 

 

Darcy did not get much sleep that night, but it was worth it to spend time with Jane. The two of them stayed up till about two in the morning, making up some bullshit argument about the deeper meaning behind the ways the characters were killed. Neither of them had actually read the book.

 

As for her backpack, she stuffed it back into the drawer a few minutes after she hung up with Jane. _I’ll finish packing tomorrow_ , she promised herself, ignoring the little voice in her head that reminded her that, technically, it was already tomorrow. Fully clothed, she climbed up the ladder to her bed and collapsed, worn out by everything that had happened. Even so, sleep took a long time coming.

 

 

Pepper was at Darcy’s side the moment she stepped out of Phil’s car the next morning. It was startling, and Darcy had to stop herself from flinching as the girl reached out and dragged her over to a bench.

 

“Are you okay? You don’t look well. Were you sick? Why were Clint and Natasha out too?” she asked, her hands automatically finding a way over Darcy’s head, patting her down as if searching for hidden deathly injuries.

 

Darcy snorted. “I’m okay, Pepper, cool your jets. I’m not secretly dying of a bullet wound.” She pushed Pepper’s hands away.

 

“Sorry, habit. Normally Tony is actually injured,” she apologized, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

 

 

“It’s cool,” Darcy said, because it was. She’d grown to like Pepper’s mother-hen like mannerisms.

 

“Come on then, let’s go find Betty,” she decided, gesturing for Darcy to follow her with a flick of her wrist. Darcy did.

 

As it turned out, Betty wasn’t all that hard to find.

 

“ _Essential Cell Biology_ ,” Darcy read. “I’m surrounded by nerds.”

 

Betty looked up from where she was sitting outside her homeroom, blushing when she saw Darcy’s eye roll.

 

“That’s cuz you are one,” Carol remarked, coming up behind Darcy and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m the one that’s surrounded by you losers.”

 

Betty began packing up her textbooks. “Carol, you can name all of Jupiter’s moons and can tell me what type of planes women flew in World War II,” she observed.

 

“Wanting to be an astronaut is not nerdy!”

 

“It really is.”

 

“Nuh-uh!”

 

Darcy laughed at their antics, feeling the tight feeling in her chest loosen for a second. Was this what she was running away from?

 

“Hey Darcy, why weren’t you here yesterday? Bruce wouldn’t say,” Betty asked. Darcy’s stomach twisted.

 

“Oh, it was nothing. I’m fine, really,” she replied, reverting to default.

 

Pepper’s eyes were concerned. “We’re here for you, okay? We’re your friends.”

 

Would they still be her friends when she inevitably fucked up? Would they still be her friends when they found out how fucked up she already was? Experience told her that no, they wouldn’t. Darcy reminded herself that she was already too fucking attached, that she was leaving to make it less painful.

 

“Yeah. Thanks, really,” she said, and left it at that. They dropped it.

 

It was her second to last day with these girls (Monday, she had decided, was a good day to run away), so she made sure to make it good. She participated in their conversations and laughed at their jokes, ensuring that they’d have some memories to be tarnished when she ran. Darcy wanted some good impressions to be remembered by as well, thank you very much.

 

She’d be quieter on Monday, she knew, but on that Friday she made the most of it.

 

They four of them spent lunch laughing, teasing each other and joking. The sense of care was overwhelming and Darcy had to tell the trusting part of her brain that it was all temporary. It was only towards the end of lunch that the conversation turned to more serious matters.

 

“I hate Steve,” Carol muttered, staring dejectedly down at the ground.

 

“What?” Darcy asked, her head snapping up defensively.

 

“Not your Steve. My younger brother.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Betty reached out to rest a comforting hand on Carol’s knee. Pepper made _tsk_ noise in sympathy. Carol sighed.

 

“I tell my dad I can work just as hard as the boys. When my brothers are goofing off, I’m working. I built half of our tree house all by myself. My grades are better than Steve’s. But he’s still the favorite, he’s still the one who’s going to make us proud.

 

“There’s a cool opportunity over the summer, for young teens who wanna learn engine mechanics. It looked awesome, so I showed it to my dad. He thanked me for showing it to him, telling me that it looked just like something Steve would love. I told him that no, actually, _I_ wanted to do it, and he laughed at me. Told me to go help my mother with dinner,” Carol finished bitterly.

 

Darcy wasn’t sure what to say. Betty just gave Carol a sympathetic hug, murmuring condolences. Pepper looked like she was going to take Mr. Danvers to court, with her prosecuting (a terrifying thing it would be, if Pepper Potts went into law). It was a good reminder that she wasn’t the only one with problems. _But I'm still running from mine._

 

The bell rang, so Darcy made her way to World History. She pointedly didn’t look at the spot where Natasha normally sat. It was a petty thing to do, pretend she wasn’t there at all, but Darcy felt petty.

           

Sitwell started the lesson, telling them to flip to page 213. Darcy did so grudgingly, admiring a particularly detailed dick drawn in the margin. The amount of time the person had spent on it was commendable.

           

The top of the page read: “The Reign of Peter the Great, 1682-1725.” She sighed. Another day, another chapter, yet another annoying boy putting his hand up to ask if they’re all communists yet. (“If you paid attention, Mr. Rumlow, you would remember me informing you yesterday that Soviet Russia begins on page 465.”)

           

It said something to Darcy that by the time they were halfway through class the most interesting thing that had happened was still the artfully doodled penis. She’d almost fallen asleep when that changed.

           

“Ms. Simmons, what are you doing?”

           

Darcy knew Jemma Simmons by reputation only. She was one of those genius kids that took most of their classes at the local college, only sticking around for History and English at school. Simmons didn’t talk all that much in class. Darcy had heard that the girl could be a know-it-all when it came to science, though.

           

And right now she was getting busted.

           

“I’m ah, er, um, taking notes, sir. On my computer. Laptop. With a word-processing application. By Microsoft,” the girl stammered in an English accent, looking terrified. _Good lord_ , Darcy thought. _She can’t lie._

           

Sitwell had evidently reached the same conclusion. “Then why, Ms. Simmons, do I see my secure files open on your computer?”

           

The girl gulped.

           

“Your head is looking very nice today, sir, very nice. Very…shiny.”

           

“Ms. Simmons, if you don’t tell me right now I will be forced to call your parents,” Sitwell threatened. It was this that made the girl’s eyes harden slightly.

           

“Good luck, sir. Do you need the address of a store that sells Ouija boards?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively. So she _did_ have some fire.

           

“Ms. Simmons, I will call your guardian this instant. What are you doing with those files?” Sitwell reached down to grab Simmons’s wrist, his thick fingers encircling it easily.

           

The girl panicked. She made a small noise at the back of her throat that made Darcy wince in recognition. Then she brought her free hand up and slammed it into his nose, hard enough that Sitwell staggered backward, hand cupped protectively around his face. Now free, Simmons grabbed her bag and laptop and ran out the door.

           

The class was silent.

           

“Class dismissed,” Sitwell declared nasally. “Do the homework for next time.”

           

“Well, that was more interesting than normal,” Darcy commented to Natasha as they walked out the door. The next moment she remembered she was supposed to be keeping her distance, and quickly ducked away before Natasha could answer. Definitely petty.

           

Natasha was late to the car again.

           

She brought Simmons up that night with Coulson.

           

“Do you know a girl named Jemma Simmons?” she asked in between bites of mashed potatoes.

           

Phil nodded. “Yeah, actually. I fostered her for a while, just like Skye. May adopted her too.”

           

“Did you foster every kid in Shield at one point?” She was kind of stunned, but she didn’t let it show. She never would’ve pegged Simmons for a foster kid.

           

“That is what I asked, when he started fostering me. It seemed everyone I met knew the great Phil Coulson,” Thor chimed in, grinning.

           

“Don’t worry, though, Darcy,” Steve said. “All the kids he’s fostered are better off now.”

           

“Except Ward,” Clint grumbled.

 

Five glares shot in his direction.

 

Was she like Ward? After she ran away, would she be reduced to a mutter and a glower? Probably, she decided. Yes. That was okay though, because it would stop the feeling in her chest from eating her alive. Resentment would keep her from being missed.

 

“Why do you ask, Darcy?” Phil asked, presumably to break the tense silence that had fallen across the table.

 

“She hit Mr. Sitwell in the nose during history today.”

 

Clint and Steve both choked.

 

“What?” Coulson exclaimed.

 

“Simmons hit Sitwell in the nose during class,” Darcy repeated.

 

“You’re joking,” Thor declared.

 

“You have to be,” Bruce confirmed.

 

“She is telling the truth,” a voice piped up. Everyone turned in surprise to look at Natasha, who never spoke at the dinner table. The Russian shrugged. “We have the same class.”

 

“Jemma punched someone?” Phil sounded unreasonably concerned, in Darcy’s opinion.

 

“Yeah. She was doing something with his files on her computer, and he got mad and grabbed her hand. She just swung and smacked him right in the face. It was actually kinda badass.” Seriously, Darcy was starting to feel like a broken record. She’d said this like four times already.

 

Four pairs of eyes around the table stared at her blankly.

 

Coulson abruptly stood up. “I’m going to go call May.” He walked out of the room.

 

“Uh-oh, Skye’s in trouble….” Clint singsonged quietly. Steve snorted.

 

Darcy was confused. “Why is Skye the one in trouble if Simmons is the one that hit a teacher?”

 

“Because,” Steve said, “Jemma Simmons is basically the sweetest, most selfless person you’ll ever meet. And she hates breaking rules.”

 

“So?”

 

“So duh, Skye must have had something to do with it. And secure files? Right up Skye’s alley,” Clint cut in.

 

“Oh. Cool.”

 

Darcy excused herself soon after.

 

 

That weekend passed quickly. Little things kept disappearing from the house all weekend (the peanut butter, some unperishables, Bruce’s wallet) but no one tied it back to her. She was ready by Monday morning.

 

No one noticed when Darcy took her old backpack to the table instead of the new striped one Phil had bought her. No one noticed when she made a game out of starting each of her sentences with the letters that spelled out “goodbye”. No one noticed when she couldn’t eat her breakfast for the tightness in her chest.

 

No one noticed a thing.

 

That day Darcy was quiet, as she had predicted she would be. The hitch in her chest suffocated her enough that she didn’t feel like talking, and her friends were chatty enough to let her sit out on most of their conversations. The closer she got to lunch the bigger the ball of anxiety in her chest grew, but she was steadfast in her intentions. She needed to leave.

           

Lunch came. Lunch went.

           

Mr. Sitwell had a bandage on his nose, and Jemma Simmons wasn’t in class.

           

Darcy’s heart was a drum in her chest, banging along to the tick of the clock. Her palms were sweaty as she headed to sixth period. Her teacher gave her a hall pass for the bathroom when she requested one ten minutes later. She grabbed her backpack (she was a girl; no one thought anything of it), and walked out.

           

No one noticed when she walked off school property. Darcy breathed out, watched her breath puff out in the cold air. Shoving her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, she cursed herself for needing to run away in _February_. _Seriously_ , she thought _. Who does that?_ _Me, apparently_.

           

Ignoring the tingling in her chest, Darcy walked to the bus stop. It was scheduled to come in five minutes. She had planned it that way. Rubbing her hands to warm them up, she tried to distract herself from the ugly truth behind what she was doing. _Abandoning people runs in families._

           

She checked her iPod, anxious. Only a minute had passed since she last checked. She looked again a minute later.

           

The bus that finally pulled up to the curb had a half-naked woman adorning the side, selling vodka or something. The model’s skin was impossibly clear, and her eyes looked like they had been enlarged to five times their normal size. Darcy looked the ad over before clambering up the steps. No thanks; Darcy liked her women when they were human.

           

The bus started rolling, and Darcy stared out the window. Someone sat down next to her, but she didn’t turn to look. Bye-bye, Shield. Bye, Jane. Bye, Phil. Bye, Steve. Bye, Clint. Bye, Na–

           

“Clint did not believe me when I told him you were running.”

           

Darcy jumped what she would swear was ten feet in the air. It felt as if someone had touched a live wire to her skin. Her neck whipped around so fast she felt it pop. Her mouth fell open.

           

There, sitting in the bus seat next to her, was a very familiar redhead.

           

“Natasha, I–what–you–here–how– _what_?” she spluttered.

           

The other girl shrugged. “You are not very good at keeping secrets,” Natasha remarked.

           

Darcy’s brain was stuck. This wasn’t happening.

           

“Are you going to drag me back?”

           

“No,” Natasha sighed. “I am not.”

           

To Darcy, that was the moment she first saw Natasha look truly world-weary. Sure, she had seen her look tired before; Natasha’s dark circles were as much a part of her ensemble as Steve’s black eye. She knew her foster-sister was twitchy and scared and traumatized, but all of that seemed to have fallen away in front of her. Now Natasha was just exhausted, like she had given up on life and didn’t care enough to be afraid anymore.

           

It terrified Darcy, because the only person that Darcy had ever seen have that expression was her father, a month before he downed a handful of Tylenol.

           

“Okay.” Darcy traced the cracked plastic of the bus seat in front of her with her eyes.

           

“Clint wants me to, though.”

           

“Of course he does.”

           

“He dragged me back,” Natasha admitted.

           

“You ran?” Darcy asked. “From Phil?”

           

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

           

The brunette shrugged, turning to face the window once more. It made sense, that someone like Natasha would have run. A part of Darcy even wanted to ask what happened, wanted to comfort Natasha or make some jokes to lighten the mood. It was the same stupid voice in her head that loved people so much that it scared her. _I’m running_ , she reminded herself, _because people suck. Especially the ones I love._

           

“The shirt.”

           

“What?” Darcy extricated herself from her thoughts.

           

“I am sorry about the shirt.” Did she really detect guilt in Natasha’s normally inscrutable voice?

 

“It’s a good shirt. It would have been better if I was actually your sister, though.”

 

She didn’t have to look to feel Natasha’s flinch.

 

The bus stopped and more people piled in.

 

“It was stupid of me. I am sorry,” the Russian said eventually, breaking the silence. When it became clear Darcy wasn’t going to reply, she continued. “You were so kind to me that night. It was a lapse. It won’t happen again.”

 

The way she said the last phrase made it sound like Natasha was used to taking orders, and was beating herself up for messing up. As much as Darcy just wanted this conversation to _end, end, let me go, closeness hurts_ , she also didn’t want her foster-sister to be in pain.

 

“No, c’mon, I’m just too fucked up for this,” she said, pinching her thigh. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

 

“I do not have a full grasp of American pop culture, but I am fairly certain that we are not breaking up,” the redhead deadpanned.

 

“No, we’re on a bus and you should get off at the next stop before Phil freaks out. Or I pepper spray you.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Natasha sigh. “No.”

 

“No?” Darcy repeated.

 

“No.” Natasha let out a long breath. “Please come back.”

 

“I can’t do that.” Darcy felt like she was begging. _I need to leave, please just let me leave._

 

“Why are you running, sestrenka?”

 

“Because I’m scared,” Darcy confessed. “I let you guys get so close it hurts, and then I’m probably gonna fuck up and it’s just gonna hurt even more.”

 

To her credit, Natasha looked wholly unimpressed. “And what if they still care for you after you fuck up?” Her accent wrapped around the curse word, sounding it out like she was unused to swearing in English.

 

“No one’s ever done that before.”

 

“I am fucking up too.”

 

“So we’re both screwed.” Darcy rolled her eyes. The traitorous voice in her head wanted to know how Natasha was fucking up. The rest of her brain refused to ask.

 

“I am not going to let you run off in the middle of February alone with only a backpack, Darcy.”

 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to drag me back.”

 

Natasha shook her head. “You misunderstand. I have people who owe me favors. I can set you up with them. They are horrible people, but they know if I go public I can ruin their lives. They will not let you die, if I ask.”

 

Darcy did a double take. She stared at Natasha disbelievingly, taking in the guarded green eyes. “That’s got to be one of the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me.”

 

Natasha stared back. “I want you to know, though, that Clint started crying when I finally convinced him you were running away.”

 

“I don’t want to go back,” Darcy whispered, but she could feel her resistance crumbling. When she talked to Natasha it seemed so simple, and she felt so dumb.

 

“I am huge hypocrite for saying this, but you should let them love you.”

 

Love. _Love_. _Lovelovelovelovelove_. Oh God, did she want that. Try. She was going to try.

 

“Okay,” Darcy choked out, feeling tears spring to her eyes. “I’ll come back.”

 

Natasha’s eyes did the thing where they crinkled at the corners, and Darcy thought if she were anyone else she would be grinning.

 

“Then I suggest, dear hearts, that the two of you get off this bus,” came a voice from behind them. When Darcy turned to look, there was a kindly old woman, smiling at them. Darcy could tell from the look on her face that she had heard everything.

 

Darcy beamed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A one-shot spin-off of this chapter should be coming soon (I've already written two pages of it), and it's about May's house! It follows May and her ducklings directly after the Jemma action in this chapter. Should be up soon!


	9. Jesuses of Suburbia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks. Whew, okay, it's been a while. Like, a year. I'm really sorry about that. I'd make a bunch of excuses, but that won't really change anything. I'm back on this story, though, and I have another chapter ready after this one that I'll post on Monday. Thank you so, so much to everyone who commented during the hella long hiatus. Title of this chapter is a blatant reference to Green Day. Anyway, here's wonderwall.

Her grin lasted until it was time to actually catch the bus back to Phil’s. Then she had another change of heart.

“Natasha, I don’t think I can do this,” she said, her left hand clasped tightly to her right wrist. She could feel her heartbeat pounding through her whole body, and she felt like there was something in her chest that was trying to break free. She wished she could bring back the elation that she had felt just a few seconds ago, the simple joy at having found something that she was willing to make her family, but the feeling was gone. In its place was an ugly fear.

What was she even afraid of anymore?

Natasha looked up at the bus driver, and she must have done the terrifying thing with her eyes because the grown man gulped at the fourteen-year-old girl. “I’ll wait here until you two are done,” he said hurriedly.

The older girl turned back to Darcy, her face her usual impassive mask. She said nothing, making Darcy wonder if she’d exceeded her allotment of words for the day.

“I’m so scared,” Darcy breathed, admitting something that she had never told anyone in her life. “And I don’t even know why.”

The other girl’s gaze met her own, green eyes filled with something that seemed to be on a whole other level to Darcy’s pain. Natasha didn’t break the silence that had stretched, just reached out a tentative hand to Darcy’s shoulder. For someone acquainted with how conditionally Natasha touched people, it was clearly a moving moment.

“Let them love you, Darcy,” Natasha said again.

“But what if something happens and it just hurts—“

Natasha interrupted her. “What if nothing happens?”

Darcy let that sink in for a bit. If nothing happened, she would be happy. If she ran now, if she kept running, if she always lived in constant fear, there was no chance of that. The insecure part of her brain urged her to reconsider, to remind her that they would all abandon her when she fucked up, but for the first time in her life Darcy told it to go fuck itself. It felt good.

“Okay, I’ll try. For real this time.”

“Now that that’s sorted, are you two girls ready? We’re already behind schedule,” the bus driver complained.

Natasha glared at him and led the way to the back of the bus. She made Darcy sit in the window seat, while she herself faced the rest of the passengers. It was the Natasha that Darcy recognized, the constantly-on-guard-forever-paranoid Natasha. Not the strange Natasha that had suddenly started talking about love. Where did that come from?

“You, uh, you really buy the stuff you told me? It doesn’t seem to fit into your belief system, from what I’ve seen,” Darcy said.

Natasha eyed her. “Okay,” she admitted. “I might have recited everything that Clint told me when he came and got me.”

“Really?”

“From memory.”

That seemed more like it. Darcy smiled, picturing Clint’s little crooked grin and realizing that she was relieved that she was going to see him again.

 

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Phil was standing behind his desk in his study. He seemed angry. Darcy instinctively hunched her shoulders, but Phil was in no mood to be repentant. “Do you have any idea how horrible it was, coming to pick you up and finding you gone? Finding _both_ of you gone?” He rounded on Natasha. “When I specifically told you to wait? You’re in _protective custody_ , Natasha. I don’t know how to get that through to you.”

Natasha stared right back at Phil, looking him in the eyes for possibly the first time. Next to her, Darcy shook her head, staring fixedly at a dancing hula girl on Phil’s desk. Phil looked at both of them and sighed.

“Darcy, can you give me back Bruce’s wallet please?”

Unzipping her backpack, she handed it to Phil wordlessly.

“You can give back whatever else you took tomorrow, after you do your homework. And you might not like this, but you get to start therapy next Monday.” That sucked, but she could deal. Right when Darcy thought that was all he was going to say, Phil looked directly into her eyes. “We would _hate_ to lose you, Darcy. Please never do that again.”

Ignoring the burn behind her eyes and the tingle in the back of her throat, Darcy followed Natasha out of the room.

 

That night was defined by the myriad of entrances and exits that converged on Darcy’s room.

Thor came, gave her a clap on the back and a bar of chocolate, and told her to call Jane. While she was putting off calling Jane, Bruce hovered by the door for a few minutes before saying “I’mgladyoureokay” all in one breath. When she smiled at him he turned around and all but ran back to his room. Steve sat with her for a while and helped her with her English homework, only giving her a hug and abandoning her when she started on her basic physics stuff.

Darcy wasn’t expecting Natasha to come in, but she was disappointed that Clint had yet to make an appearance. Of all her siblings, she’d have thought he would be the most excited she was back, but it seemed he couldn’t even be bothered to give her a ‘I’m glad you’re not living on the street, sis.”

So now she had nothing else to distract her from texting Jane. It took her several tries, but eventually she settled on:

           

            **i’m sorry**

 

There was a gap wherein Darcy picked at her fingertips, a pause that was unbearable by any standards. Then, finally, Jane replied.

 

            _Damn right you should be. Do you have any idea how scared I was?_

_Thor sent me a text that said Natasha told Phil you had run away._

_Why did you run? Was it something we did?_

 

Oh, this was worse than the wait. Much worse.

            **i’m sorry. i just…i don’t really know why i did it. sorry**

_Shit, Darce. Don’t ever do it again, okay? Promise me? No lying?_

**no lying. promise**

_Then I’m glad you’re safe, you idiot._

**i am an idiot**

_Yeah, but you’re MY idiot._

**YOUR idiot?**

_And don’t you forget it._

 

It was like it was magically okay now. After the tumultuous day, the constant mood changes and anxiety and fear, after all of the pressure in her chest and twists of her stomach, it was okay. Something about the exchange, something that could not be pinpointed, had turned down the volume of Darcy’s chaotic thoughts. It was a blessing the likes of which she rarely received, so she honored it best she could by falling asleep immediately.

 

 

 

The next few days made something abundantly clear: Clint was ignoring her. In the car he buried himself in his comic books, at the dinner table he laughed and talked with everyone but her, and when she tried to seek him out at night to talk to him he always managed to disappear. It was the only part of Darcy’s world that wasn’t knitting itself back together, and it hurt.

Everyone noticed, but it wasn’t like there was much they could do. Clint seemed to have finally forgiven Phil for the whole situation regarding Natasha and coping, so Phil was tiptoeing around sensitive topics a bit to ensure that similar fallouts didn’t occur before the whole family resettled. Natasha – who still arrived late at pick up times most days – acted like her part in the affair was completed. The entire household was at a stalemate, trying to act like everything was back to normal when it really, really wasn’t.

It was Steve, good ole’ Steve, who finally breached the tabooed subject with her. He was hanging out in her room, sprawled out on her rug writing an essay on his laptop. This was a thing they did now, spend time together while they did their homework, and Darcy loved it. It felt pure and honest, compatriotic. It felt like casual sibling-hood was supposed to feel, complete with Darcy pestering him every five seconds about a cute hedgehog she’d seen on the internet. (“Darcy, that’s the fifth one in five minutes.” “Darcy, I get it, it’s cute.” “Darcy, stop.”)

But ultimately the unsaid words must have taken up too much space, because Steve shut his laptop with a heavy sigh. Darcy swiveled around at the sound, astounded by the seriousness of his expression. Today he had a graze tracing his jawline, a scratch crisscrossing his cheek, and a fresh shiner pressing his left eye half closed. It should have made him look ridiculous, but instead it made him look rough and stern. Noble, almost, like one of the war generals she had studied in history. Then she mentally chided herself for romanticizing what was most likely just going to be a chewing out by her big brother.

“We need to talk,” said Steve.

Darcy pretended not to know what he was talking about. “About what, Steve-o?”

“About Clint. Actually, you need to talk _to_ Clint, but we need to talk first.” He didn’t look angry at her. In fact, he sounded like he was trying his hardest to make it seem like he wasn’t blaming her for anything.

“In case you haven’t been paying attention, Clint doesn’t really want to talk to me right now,” Darcy muttered.

“I know,” Steve said. “But you still need to talk to him, so I’m going to tell you some things before I tell you where to find him.”

He cut her off as she opened her mouth to protest. “Just listen.”

“When I was a kid, I had it really good. I was sickly and asthmatic, but I had a mother who cared and a best friend who was more like a brother. When my ma died, he took me in with his family. But then, well, his parents had an accident and we both got put into the system. Since we weren’t family, they didn’t try to keep us together. We kept in touch for a while, but he got into some bad shit. Local gangs. He found out something about Russian human trafficking, sounded real scared about it, too. Next thing I knew, his foster parents sent me an email telling me he was dead. An email.” Steve’s face had taken on a haunted, far off expression like he didn’t know exactly where he was going with this but he regretted dredging up the memories. He shook himself slightly, then continued.

“I was placed with Phil when I was about ten. He was still a social worker back then, you know? He didn’t think he would ever foster, but for some reason he decided he would right before me. I loved him almost immediately. Clint came a year later, seven years old and so angry. You saw him how he was when he was pissed at Phil these past few weeks, but back then he was worse than that, except all the time. About everything. The world gave him a shit hand, though I s’pose that’s not really mine to tell you, and he was dealing with it the only way he knew.

“Anyway, it takes him years to break out of that, right? And he finally gets around to understanding that we’re not gonna hurt him or leave him like his brother did. So he settles down enough that Phil puts in the paperwork to foster this little girl who’s been really mistreated: Skye. So now there’s three of us. And it took a while, but eventually he meshed really well with us and became…happier. Or at least better at pretending he’s happy. Then we get Fitz and Simmons, these two little nerdy brits that I think you might know. We’re up to five. Then, then, we get Ward.

“Ward was abused, and was acting out in some tough ways. Phil thought he could help him—and maybe he didn’t do it perfectly, but no one can be perfect—so he agreed to foster him. And at first it worked. He warmed up to us. I liked him. Seemed like he had a good heart, you know? And to this day I’m not convinced that he doesn’t. But sometimes, some people get so far under somebody else’s thumb that it’s just impossible to help him. But we never should have blamed a fourteen-year-old as harshly for that as we did, I don’t think. God, it’s weird to think that he was younger than I am now.”

He was being so circular that it was driving Darcy nuts. “What happened?”

“There was an incident. He was—I don’t want to say obsessed—with Skye, and he thought hurting Fitz and Simmons would be the only way to get her attention. He had this manipulative asshole of a man feeding him shit like that on the side, only we never knew.”

“He hurt them? That’s _shit_. But what does it have to do with Clint?”

“Oh, uh, right.” Again, Steve looked like he said more than he meant to. “To Clint, me and Ward were his big brother figures to replace his old one. So…Ward abandoned him. Then Skye and Fitz and Simmons were adopted by May, which he understood but was also almost…abandonment. And then we fostered Thor, then Bruce, then we kind of got Tony along with him, and… You gotta understand, Phil is a great guy. But there’s only so many kids he can pay full attention to at once. So sometimes Clint slips under his radar a bit. And then there was Natasha, and that whole deal. And then…”

“And then me,” Darcy said, feeling like her throat was full of gravel. “And I ran.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, tugging down his t-shirt collar.

“Was this just the most long-winded guilt-trip ever?”

“No, no, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Steve assured her. “But I do want you to understand why Clint’s upset. Abandonment issues lead to low self-esteem.”

There it is again, that word. _Abandonment_. Darcy was an abandonment case. Her dad chose an overdose over fatherhood, and her mother decided that leaving her on the doorstep of a firehouse was easier than PTA meetings. She knew how it was to watch someone’s back as they walked away. She knew the crippling shiv that was _you’re not good enough you’re horrible you don’t deserve anyone that’s why they all left_. And now Steve was saying that she did the same thing to Clint?

Clint, with his chatter and bright smiles?

Bright smiles?

Oh.

Well.

Her eyes were wet, her throat clogged. Her breath didn’t catch quite right. How many other people had she done that to? Charles? Raven? Steve caught her around the shoulders.

“You’re okay,” he promised. “I’m sorry. But you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She snorted, though it was a more congested sound than she would have liked. As if she knew anything these days.

“Sorry, stupid question. He’s on the roof.”

She stared at him, feeling her heart pound behind her eyes. Actually, it could have been a migraine. “He’s on the _where_?”  
           

“The roof.”

“Goddammit, Clint.”

“Yep. You good?”

She pressed her thumbs to the tops of her eye orbits, then swiped away her tears. She was so _sick_ of crying. “I think so.”

“Go get him, tiger,” he said. He smiled, but his shoulders slumped. Only now did she noticed the tiredness etched behind his bruises.

“Steve?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Are _you_ okay?”

He prodded her forward. “Don’t worry about it, sis. Go talk to your baby brother.”

 

 

Clint was, as Steve had said, on the roof. It was very Calvin and Hobbes, the way that his bedroom window jutted out and gave easy access to the perch next to it. Darcy stuck her head out of the window and only had to look to the right to be eye-level with the boy slumped beside her.

“Clint,” she said, but he didn’t look at her. _Jesus Christ_ , he was going to make her climb out there too.

Her feet scrabbling on the shingles, she tried to find the adequate purchase that would allow her to slide to the other side of him. The grip she held on the window frame blanched her knuckles. In seeming surprise, Clint looked up at her. It was like he didn’t expect her to actually come out, even after she’d called to him. This would show him.

Stepping out on the roof was easier when she didn’t look down, and she managed to plop down next to him with no real incident.

“Hey,” she said, flashing him a smile.

He glared at her and looked away. Right. He was pissed and hurt.

“I wanted to say…sorry.” It wasn’t enough. Clawing through her chest, remorse spilled out. “Clint, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was just…so hard. You know I didn’t have it easy, and this was the only way I could deal with that. I just got overwhelmed.”

He didn’t react. She bumped shoulders with him lightly, and he turned back to her.

“I can’t hear you,” he said, his voice slightly slurred. “I don’t have my aids in.”

She stopped short. “Oh.”

“I can go get them,” he decided grudgingly. Slipping inside looked easy when he did it, and he popped back out as smoothly. He hooked the little devices around his ears and turned back towards her. “Now what?”

It occurred to her before that what she had been saying had all been excuses, empty words like the ones adults laid down at her feet, drying flowers that sat in a vase without water. Clint deserved more than that.

“I’m sorry,” she said, staring down at her lap. “I hurt you, bad, without thinking about your feelings, and you have every right to be angry with me. I was selfish. I’m sorry.”

He bit his lip. “I’m angry,” he admitted. “But I forgive you.”

She snaps her head up, surprised. “What?”

“I forgive you for that. I get why you had to run. But I just kept thinking…what did I do this time? Was it me? Can you tell me that, Darcy?”

“Clint, it wasn’t you.”

“See, I know that if I think logically, but there’s a little voice in my head that tells me it was all my fault. Everyone leaves me.”

“It’s not you,” she said, but again she saw the blurry afterimage of her mother walking away, dancing in front of her eyes like sunspots after a camera flash. Only then, when what he was saying actually held meaning, did she realize how much Clint spoke in relation to how little he truly said. “I know it sounds empty, but it’s true. I care about you so much I got scared.”

“I’m sorry for being a bad little brother,” he apologized, his voice thick and his eyes still fixed on the horizon line. “I know I’m annoying.”

Feeling like Steve, she reached out and slung her arm around his shoulders. “You’re a great little brother,” she breathed, “and you’re not annoying.”

“People always sound like they’re lying when they say that.”

She sighed. “Yeah, it sounds like that to me too.”

“Are we the low self-esteem twins, then?”

“Guess so, lil’ bro. Though maybe not _twins_. You’re a squirt, after all.”

“Rude,” he protested, but a small smirk tugged at his lips. “I’m _way_ more mature than you.”

“Really? Says who?”

“Your mom.”

“I apologize. I see it now. You’re the pinnacle of all things mature.”

“No, _I_ apologize. I see it now too. You have no comeback skills.”

“Oh, shuddup, Clint.”

“You just proved my point.”

They were both grinning, staring out at the world around them. Falling sunlight painted picket fences, glinted from windows, and daubed their faces in a war paint of gold. The two children clung to their little corner of the universe, desperate to fight a world intent on aging them early.

There was sunset in suburbia.


	10. Immortalize My Siblings as Dinosaurs

“Well, well, well,” the drawl came from her office chair, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh, knock it off, Tony,” Jane dismissed, striding in and spinning the chair around. “Darcy’s told me that you to do that like every time you get here before her.”

“Giving away trade secrets, are we, Lewis?” Tony asked, scowling. “I thought we had something special.”

“Yeah, me and every other girl in town,” Darcy replied, following Jane in and pulling herself up onto her desk.

“I don’t like to limit myself to just girls, thank you very much.”

“Me and every person in town isn’t much better.”

He shrugged, brushing his hand up through his spiked hair. Giving the roguish grin that graced every father and son magazine cover, he said, “What can I say, I’m a magnet. People just can’t get enough of me.”

The two girls let out groans of disgust.

“Get out of here,” Darcy said, slapping him on the shoulder lightly. “Bruce is waiting for you in his room.”

Tony flinched. It was slight, just the too sharp blink of an eye and the jerk of the shoulders, but Darcy caught it. (She didn’t like to admit just how attuned she was to the body posture of men, especially when they were bigger than her.)

Looking closer at his neck, she saw blue and purple patterning the little open skin she could see. She could only imagine what was hidden beneath his black button-up sleeves. Her breath caught. She should say something. Those weren’t bruises from falling down, from little lab accidents, those were from…

“I’d go quick,” she said instead. “He was going to eat all of the twisties.”

There must have been something in her eyes, or a quaver in her voice, because he looked at her for half a second and _knew_. She thought his eyes might have eased in gratitude, and he rubbed his hand down half his face melodramatically.

“Oh, no, not the _twisties_.”

“Better get out there, kid,” Jane said, oblivious.

Tossing a mocking grin over his shoulder, Tony swept out.

“Is he ever not…like that?” Jane asked when the door closed behind him.

“Like what? A massive nerd? A dramatic egotist?”

“Either or.”

“Not that I’ve seen. Technically, haven’t you known him longer? I’ve only been here like a month, Jane-y.”

“It has to have been more than that. But yeah, you really get to know a lot about a boy from sharing an AP physics course,” said Jane. “For example, how many times he finds it appropriate to stare at the teacher’s ass in one class period. Or how many homework assignments he thinks he can miss because the world revolves around him. Or how it’s okay to poke at everyone else’s problems, but when he’s having a bad day everything becomes a crime.”

“Huh.” Her gut turned uncomfortably.

“Sorry, that sounded mean,” Jane apologized, straddling the chair Tony just left. She brushed some flyaway hair behind her ear. “He’s not terrible, which is why I was wondering if he’s different here.”

“Well, I like him, I think. To each her own, but don’t worry. Sisters before misters and all that.” Darcy forced a grin, and was surprised that it came to her face easily.

Jane grinned back. “Yeah, but it’s cool if you’re friends with people I don’t like. Just because you’ve had impeccable taste with the PBC doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”

“The PBC?”

Jane winced. “Pepper, Betty, Carol…? No? Yeah, that’s fair. It sounded better in my head.”

“Everything sounds better in your head, you’re a super-genius,” Darcy said. “Now, should we get down to the dirty work?”

“A lot of things you say scare me,” her friend replied, clearing a space on the desk and pulling out her laptop to set on top of it. “But I have to say, ‘dirty work’ is pretty up there.”

“Naw, you love me.” Darcy giggled. “Besides, I only want to…”

 

 

 

“You photoshopped all of our heads onto the bodies of dinosaurs.” Thor sounded confused, but honored.

“Yep.”

“Why?” Steve looked up from where he was inspecting her and Jane’s masterpieces.

“Because it was fun!” _And this is even more fun_ , she thought, grinning as she saw each sibling’s reactions.

“It’s stupid, though,” Tony put in, pressing his hand to the back of his neck. “Who spends their Saturday night doing _that_? And the photoshop isn’t even that good.”

Clint snorted. “You’re only upset because you’re a… What is that?”

“An ankylosaurus,” Darcy relished.

“Yeah. You’re only upset because you’re that. _I_ got a pterodactyl. Caw, caw, mother—“ He remembered his adoptive father was only in the next room.

Behind him, Natasha hid a small smirk behind her hand. She looked up at Darcy and nodded, once, gratefully. They still hadn’t really talked in the two weeks since the running away incident, but they weren’t frosty anymore, either.

Besides, Natasha looked really fucking majestic on the body of a megaraptor.

“Am I correct in believing I am a tyrannosaurus rex?” Thor asked.

“You bet.”

“Thank you.” He looked proud, and slipped the paper into his pocket.

Steve puzzled over his a bit more.

“Want me to tell you what you are, Stevie?”

“Please.”

“An allosaurus. Fricking badass of the Jurassic.”

“And I’m an Apatosaurus, right?” Bruce confirmed, smiling gently.

“A boy who knows his dinosaurs, I admire that.” She raised her hand, and when he nodded, clapped him on the shoulder.

“What’s all this?” Phil asked, coming out of his bedroom and into the living room where they were all clustered. “You’re not staging a coup, are you? Because I’d want to put clean underwear on first.”

“Phil! You’re a big-nose horn face!” Darcy reached down in front of Steve, plucked Phil’s picture off the table, and presented it to him with glee.

“Excuse me?”

“A nasutoceratops.”

“Oh, I remember those!” Tony exclaimed. “But how do you? You didn’t even take the PSAT.”

“I had Jane’s help, duh.”

“Whoa, slow down, slow down,” Phil begged. “Why am I on a dinosaur?”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

Darcy sighed. “Come on, guys, it’s fun. I made everyone as dinosaurs. Don’t you like them?”

Phil smiled paternally. “Actually, these are pretty cool. If we had Christmas cards, I’d put these on them.”

Wincing, Darcy said, “I’m, uh, kinda Jewish. I haven’t practiced in a long time; it’s been years since I’ve been to synagogue…” She felt a stone settle at the base of her stomach. “I actually should have been a bat mitzvah this year.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Okay, so no Christmas cards. How about we stick them on the walls?”

“You want to stick my photoshopped pictures of dinosaurs on the walls of your respectable suburban home.” It was meant to come out as a question, but it didn’t. She pinned her eyebrows together in incredulity.

“Sure, why not?” He walked over and stacked all the papers together. Thor took his back out of his pocket and slipped it onto the pile.

“Uh, cool. Thanks, boss-man.”

“I think I’ve got some frames around here somewhere. I’ll set it up by tomorrow, sound good?” Phil asked, walking back towards his room.

“Do you want something?” she double-checked.

“Nope.”

“Then it sounds, uh, pretty damn cool. Immortalize my siblings as dinosaurs.”

“Stupid ankylosaurus,” Tony muttered, but his eyes flicked up to meet Darcy’s and she could tell he was exaggerating his disapproval. “I’ll get you back for this, Darcy Lewis.”

“’Course you will, Tony Stark.” She linked arms with him and slipped a small ziploc bag into his leather jacket pocket. In it were two things: a small roll of Ace bandages and a sample of foundation. “Until then…do you have any games on your phone?”

 

           

On Tuesday morning, Darcy was awoken before her alarm. About to groan at Thor that _no thank you, she doesn’t want to ‘engage in a morning run’_ , she snapped fully and irreversibly awake when she found that it was Phil who was peeking his head up from the ladder. Being woken up by your guardian at six AM was rarely a good sign.

“Hey,” he whispered. Whispered. So the rest of the house was still asleep.

“Hi,” she said back, her voice gravelly with sleep. “Is this bad? I feel like this has to be bad.”

Instead of answering, he awkwardly clambered up to sit on the base of her bed. He had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling.

“Again with the avoidance? C’mon, Phil, it’s _early_.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just not totally sure about what I’m asking you to do.” He sighed, wiping his hand over his thinning hair. “As a father, I worry a lot. About you all. But recently…. Recently I worry more. Because I’ve had kids not come home before, Darcy.”

“Phil.”

“I don’t think you’re going to run away again.” He shook his head. “But I _am_ worried about…”

He let the silence trail on, and it wasn’t hard for Darcy to connect the dots. “Tony?”

Phil frowned. “What? No: Natasha. Why, what’s wrong with Tony?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. What’s up with Natasha?” she asked, wiping sleep out of her eyes. She fought back a yawn.

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t bring it back up. “You might know, but she’s in protective custody. That means that an adult should know where she is at all times, because there are some bad people out there that would do some pretty scary stuff if they knew where she is. Recently, the police have heard some chatter about her between the ga—between the bad people. The system wants to know if there are any times where she goes unsupervised. The only times I could think of would be after school, in that _small_ gap between when the bell rings and she turns up at the car. And I had a proposal for you.”

“Let me guess,” Darcy said drily. “You want me to follow her.”

“Basically.”

“Dang, that’s morally grey. Like, I had you pegged for a straight-like-an-arrow type of man, you know? This is a real monkey wrench, Phil.”

He sighed. “Will you do it? I would ask Clint, but I don’t want…”

“You don’t want to mess up things between him and Nat, and you don’t want to mess up things between him and you. I get it. I’m temporary,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant while her insides were curling like snakes.

He shook his head, nearly banging it against the ceiling. “No, no, dammit Darcy, that’s not what I mean. Of course you’re not temporary, and God I wish I didn’t have to ask you this, but who else am I supposed to ask?”

“I don’t know, Phil, you’re the adult! An eighth grade girl shouldn’t be your best option!” She bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t woken anyone up.

“Adults don’t know everything, Darcy. I don’t even know if Natasha’s doing anything but taking a bathroom break after school. And if you don’t want to do this, I won’t push,” he promised, made ironic by the fact that he was already begging. “But if you could, it would mean so much.”

“Of course I’ll do it,” she said. She felt slightly sick. She was probably just hungry for breakfast.

“Thank you.” He exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath. She wanted to be angry at him, but he was looking at her with something she’d never expected to see on his face: fear.

“Should I do it today?” Darcy asked.

“Sure, whenever you’re ready.”

He climbed down the ladder with even less grace than he’d walked up with, a feat within itself. Framed by her doorway, she was able to see him apart from the saint she’d made him into. The sunrise peeking past the curtains painted his imperfections in startling orange, highlighting and close reading them in the margin of her heart. He was more human this way, more like a man with reservations and conflictions and love and difficulty. She wondered if normal children looked at their fathers like this, if bios had to earn trust and respect in the same way. Maybe she should have lost faith in him, but this sudden honesty was comforting. Revelations of mistakes.

Steve’s alarm went off, a poppy disaster that Darcy loved and he hated. He liked to say that it motivated him to get up, if only to turn the damn thing off.

Phil smiled a bittersweet smile. He said, “And so it begins.”

She heard her brothers fighting over the bathrooms. “Yeah,” she replied. “Good morning, America.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, the PSAT is a (supposedly confidential and unmentionable) standardized test taken by all American tenth or eleventh graders. This past year, in the reading comprehension section, there was a passage on the nasutoceratops. If you somehow missed the PSAT memes that ravaged the internet to the point that baby boomers were writing articles on them, well, now you know.
> 
> It might be a bit before the next chapter, but don't worry! Life might get a little crazy for me, but I won't duck out on you guys for a year again.


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